A Shot in the Dark
by Lightnin Spark
Summary: Previously titled What I'll Risk for You. Irene knew she couldn't escape the Professor. Sherlock knew the battle between himself and his equal would hit. Both knew they had mixed emotions, the threat of death, and a common enemy. So why fight alone?
1. Chapter 1

**Full Summary: After the Blackwood case comes to a close, the one woman who even won against the great detective, has also seemed to have won his heart. Though unbeknown to Sherlock, Irene's escape of Moriarty's employment is becoming even more desperate, and is turning bleaker and even more life threatening then before. Events begin to transpire, and tables begin to turn. Holmes now has a new case: Keeping Ms. Adler from further harm, keeping himself from worse, and to avoid falling victim to the one greatest weakness known to man. Especially since his heart is at the hands of a woman who could take flight at any moment. **

**AU Set after the first film**

**Disclaimer: I do not own this movie, or the books, or the characters. Done and done.**

**Please leave a review for me! Free cyber-cup cakes! (I keep my reviewers well fed ; )  
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><p><em><strong>Chapter 1~ A Short Encounter<br>**_

_**Holmes' POV**_

The air smelled of the salt of the sea, and the tobacco (which smelled as if it was left inside the storage box for well over its correct aging time) of the pipe the man that was precisely 17 yards down the path way. Not to mention the unmistakably sweet candy apple scent down by the gate of the park, of which the location I didn't care to guess.

The sky covered its self in a thick layer of dull, gray stratus clouds; clinging to these like the people did to their jackets. For autumn was turning to winter once again. From the looks of things, it seemed like there would be little precipitation this year. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to venture outside my room, or my house at all to fetch the morning paper. Thankfully I had _Nanny _do that for me… but she couldn't really be trusted with that job. But if I had to do it myself, at least I wouldn't be slipping over that ice.

It was a fine—well it would've been a fine day if it wasn't for that nuisance of a creature Watson forced me to take for a walk. But that was all taken care of. You see Gladstone was now firmly secured to a post right outside of 221B Baker Street, so I could enjoy some peace and quiet— though that was quiet improbable. Actually it was almost completely improbable. _He'll find the dog sure enough. No one will steal him; he's too ugly and pudgy. Which is exactly why he can't escape either, _I reasoned.

The old boy insisted on me "getting some fresh air", but I really didn't see how this air was any fresher than the one inside my room. After all, there were countless people and coal powered boats all letting out gasses and such into this air. The air in my room was for me and only those who entered. I guess that was why it was an expression.

"You've been in here for two months Holmes!" Watson had exclaimed earlier this morning, pointing the bottom end of his cane to the barely hanging calenderer in the deserted corner of my room, after so rudely entering my private quarters without my permission.

"Actually," I corrected in turn, bringing my head up from the carpet, "One month, if we are going by thirty-one days that is, and twenty-two days. So it's not a full month you see."

But clearly, my reasoning didn't prove to be quiet effective. It wasn't as if this surprised me in the least. When I didn't have a case, then either him of Mrs. Hudson would storm in and force me out. Then when I would turn around on the doorstep and request admittance back into my own home, it would be promptly denied until I had been gone for multiple hours. In a short phrase, it was quite cruel. But the two would always say in protest, "It's for your own good!" I doubted that fully.

As a biting breeze blew through the bare and crocked trees in the park, I wrapped John's plaid woolen scarf once again around my neck, so that the tasseled end hung on the back of my coat. I pulled my black leather gloves from the cluttered pocket to my left, bringing my scratched pocket watch to the remains of the grass. Though as much as I wanted to continue walking and leave it there, I bent down and snatched it back up again quickly.

"Only eleven fifty-four?" I whispered, holding the pesky thing to eye level. _Those obnoxious two won't let me in for another hour at the least! _I sighed agitatedly. Still looking at the hands of the clock, I paused for a moment, listening to the barely audible 'tick, tick, tick' it made. As my thoughts of how the little clock worked absorbed me, I continued walking eight paces, then sat myself down upon my usual bench, not caring to even glance down as I did so.

"I believe you're a bit off there, Mr. Holmes," said a familiar voice behind me. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to calm my nerves. Parisian perfume began to flood my nose. "The Great Clock of Westminster* reads precisely twelve o'clock."

_How did I miss her footsteps? _I cursed my unawareness of her presence under my breath. Then without really thinking, I opened my eyes blankly and turned my head to look over the bench. Sure enough, I was met with a whirl of dark blue silk skirts.

I turned around to face the other end of worn park bench, though I found myself staring into her deep chestnut eyes, with slight rare streaks of gold around the pupil. From the other side of the bench, I could tell those eyes seemed tired, but relieved. For a second she stared at me, a chestnut ringlet blowing in the wind, which had freed it's self from the loose bun she wore under her tilted, flowered hat. She remained silent, probably wondering what to make of me, for I was pondering what to make of her. Though I was certain something was still the matter. "Still in London, dear?" I asked nonchalantly, and then decided to continue seeing as how she didn't reply. "I thought you'd run off as soon as you got the chance… marry a man… steal his money and—" She stopped me with a cold stare.

With a loud exhale of breath, she shifted to turn away from me, and began fixing the folds of her dress, and long, darker over coat which held closely to her form. "Hardly a greeting…" she said. Not knowing how to respond to this, I decided to remain quiet.

"There is business here of which I must attend," she answered simply, folding her small hands which were covered in thin white gloves in her lap. Though as I began to look closer, I noticed a very slight amount of dark ink stained on the underside of fingers through the fabric on her left hand. This struck my attention, for the Irene I knew was never one to slip while writing. Either she had been very frantic or not concentrating while signing something. It was most likely the first.

Making up my mind to find out what she was up to, I put the matter aside, and chose to engage her in conversation. "I am presuming you escaped the clutches of Scotland Yard." I remarked sarcastically, pulling out of my pipe, and striking the bench arm of the bench to light it.

"By giving me the keys, you made it only too easy," She replied with a small grin tugging at the side of her painted lips. "I got away from them as soon as they took me out of the carriage… they didn't even know what hit them." Ms. Adler lifted her eyes to the sky, stopping herself from going on about her escape. "The Doctor made you get out again?"

_She knows you too well… _I made a low grunt and nodded, lighting my pipe, "Yes, he tends to do that too often." I pulled my hand out of my pocket in a swift movement, and took Irene by the wrist, which made her bring down her head. "Don't pretend like I don't know what's going on," I whispered, as a laughing couple passed by the bench. The woman opened her mouth to say something, but I pulled her slightly closer. "You can't—" I tried to continue, but her voice came over mine.

"Oh but you don't," she said challengingly, letting herself be pulled towards my side of the settee by her wrist. "You _have_ no idea, Mr. Holmes." I had pulled her right to my side, as she gave me a stare of warning. She wretched her wrist out of my hand without breaking eye contact. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little white glove land softly on the ground. The wind began to pull at it, making it glide slowly towards the right and into a leave-less bush.

I turned my head to look back to Irene, but to my great displeasure, she was not there. "How typical," I muttered to myself putting a hand on my hat to keep it from blowing away in the wind as the glove had done. I peered over to the far side of the park walk way to see a small trail of the silk blue dress disappear around the corner of the gate. My very first intentions were to follow her, but then I soon realized it would be impractical to do such a thing. For I knew where she would be; The Grand. And if she wasn't there, well I had at least one clue. And that was quite unusual for once such as Ms. Adler.

I stood up from the bench and fetched the little white glove from the spot of which I knew it was caught. As I had guessed, a small smudge of ink lay on the inside. It was slightly blue, which meant it was made from a less expensive material. This explained that the buyer of the ink was poor, or was buying mass quantities the product. I could only think of one place where they would require so much ink, that they would have to settle for less quality.

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><p>"Why on earth did you leave Gladstone tied to a pole?" Watson yelled quite aggravated as soon as I placed myself down onto an overstuffed sofa, facing him on one of my chairs. "Someone could've easily come and stolen him!"<p>

I was about to explain my previous thinking before stopping myself. "Well, you see it was your own fault. You were the one to put him in harm's way. It is quite obvious he would meet such danger if put under supervision of one such as myself. We both know that." He stared at me still with that frustrated expression. He was clearly unmoved. _He'll get over it. _So instead I turned my attention to the dog, which was lying quite sound asleep in a pile of old and forgotten news papers. "The victim doesn't seem so traumatized." I mentioned, not even caring to see what the doctor's reaction was.

After a long moment of silence he loosened the scarf around his neck and said, "Remind me, why I come for a visit?" I opened my mouth to reply, but he quickly stopped me with a, "Don't answer that." He knew I would make a comment about how bored he was at home with Mary, missing all the great excitement here. I was now almost convinced that most of that was true.

"While I was on my _wonderful _stroll this midmorning, I happened to run into someone..." I stated blandly, hoping to perk his interest in hopes I could convince him to help me with something I felt would become a case.

"Yes?" He asked after awhile.

I smirked to myself. "A certain Ms. Irene Adler." He didn't seem to have any reply to this. Then I went into our whole conversation, word for word, followed by finding her glove and the clues I had gathered from it. I was pleased to find that I was only interrupted a twice, which was rarely the case.

After I had finished completely, John gave me a slightly amused glance. "It's not safe at all to get into the affairs of Ms. Adler… but you venture to anyways." He paused a moment, "It's not safe to have feelings for such a women as well."

_Why must he always be right? _ "That isn't the point…" I replied quickly, shooing away his comments. "But doesn't something strike you as odd in the tale?"

Watson nodded for a moment, staring into some distant place—what he always did while thinking hard. "It's almost... almost as if she _wants_ you to solve it, leaving the glove so carelessly about."

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><p><strong>Please review, and thank you in advanced!<br>**

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><p>Thank you to x-Pick'n'Mix-x, for helping me analyze the ideas for the story. :-)<p>

**The Great Clock of Westminster = Big Ben for all those who don't know


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Hullo! Nice to see the reactions of my first chapter. I was really surprised with the amount of people who reviewed. Thank you all SOOOOOO much! It made me all happy inside!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes (2009 version). There, alright!**

**Happy reading!**

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><p><strong>~Chapter 2: Afraid of a Shadow that isn't Your Own~<strong>

We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it.  
>~Tennessee Williams<p>

_**Adler**_

I shut the door behind me with much more strength than intended. The force of the blow shook the wavering frame of the townhouse as if a small tremor ran through the ground. And thank G-d they didn't, for I had experienced such things on my travels. The earth quake it's self wasn't frightening at all. Though all the damage it caused reminded us all that even though man had harnessed the power of coal and electricity, the earth was still a much greater force we could never control. Having the intentions of controlling such a thing was stupid on its own.

I turned around, bent down, and locked the door. My breathing was still ragged, my shoulders tense, and my hand always on the poisoned knife residing in the lace sleeve of my blue gown I had… _gotten _in Paris. The world was shut outside for the moment, but that didn't change anything right now. I wasn't safe, I never would be safe. _Shut up…_ I tried to push those thoughts aside, which was keeping me from the matter at hand.

Without really thinking at all, I picked up a very tawdry wooden stool and set it back up. I also propped up a cracked umbrella stand which I had also sent to the ground while throwing the door closed. I straitened myself up, and brushed the dust off my skirt, pleased that my footsteps seemed covered. And with that I moved on from the entrance.

I hiked up my skirt and petticoats and began to climb the stairs. I was hardly aware of the fact that they seemed able to collapse under my weight at any given moment. Each time I took a step the wood board would give out a small bit and cause the wood to cry out. My eyes were preoccupied, darting in every direction, searching. Every shadow, crevice, open doorway; they were all possibilities. The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge as the rusty hinges of a door creaked down the hallway on the level I was nearing. I paused for a moment only four steps away from the landing, when the wood beneath my right foot let out a loud _snap! _

I did not fall, nor scream like many would have. I simply grabbed the banister to steady myself, though this was not such a smart idea either. The wooden bars rocked precariously, the wood moaning as it did so. I let go quickly and tried to continue on, only to find my foot caught in the hole now in the step. With an impatient sigh, I yanked my foot out of the board and ran up the rest of the steps. However I was to get down again, I didn't care to think about right now.

I blindly made my way down the corridor of the abandoned townhouse, like a child; scared of a monster that could jump out at any given moment and eat me alive. Only, my monster was real. And there were no parents to come and comfort me.

_You're alone, just as you always have been_. I thought, ashamed at my anxiety. Though then it did strike me that I had never identified being alone so negatively. Normally I looked at it as like being free of a weight. I could do as I pleased, and live how I chose. No one was around to tell me I couldn't or shouldn't. The world was like an open book for me, and all I had to do was simply fly. Well it used to be that way.

My steps grew slower as I turned a corner in the hallway. Leaning on the right wall was a tall mahogany cabinet. Many of the panels on the drawers appeared to be falling off, tilting this way and that, or just lying on the ground, broken. On the top part, cheap glass windows covered the shelves where a collection of china dolls sat. The shadows that filled the house (this was because of the lack of windows) played off of their observing faces, making them seem sinister in the eeriest of ways. I tried to pay them little mind, though every time I turned to glance at them, they seemed to be staring back. They gazed back cruelly staring with their eyes wide open. It was curious that these objects made to bring happiness to little girls could be so haunting.

Soon the corridor ended with a closed door, painted with peeling beige under a layer of dust. It was now quite apparent that the home had been abandoned for quite some time now. Unknowing what else to do, and not wishing to backtrack past the cabinet with the dolls, I tested the rusted door knob to room. I was pleased to find it unlocked, so without hesitation I opened it.

I stepped in, my dress following in a quiet _swish_, as the door clicked behind me. The room I stood in was musty, the air still. It seemed to have been covered in a dark red wall paper, which had also peeled away mostly. The floor boards were sturdier than the ones down the corridor, and didn't squeak every time I took a small step. All together, the room was generally small, with a very small amount of furniture. A walnut four poster bed resided in the corner, dull grey sheets covering the sides. A curtain appeared to have been hanging around the posts, though now it lay next to a table on the bedside in a heap. The only other thing in the room was a small, cheap vanity. Empty bottles of supplies lay on the table, along with a dust filled powder puff. A stool, which appeared to be still intact, sat in front.

The four poster bed was sure to be housing bedbugs or lice, so I decided to set myself down on the stool. For a short moment I skimmed through the drawers on either side, but found all to be quiet empty. Finally, I took a hard glance at the cracked mirror.

Many bits of my hair had fallen out of the bun under my hat and sat in messy curls around my face. Some long, some short. The makeup I had used to cover the lines under my eyes had now been wiped off somehow, and a light sweat covered my forehead. And my cheeks remained still flustered. There was no hiding it, for my face could now be easily read. I was distressed, I was trapped.

Whether I liked it or not, I was still in his service. And The Professor didn't seem to have any intentions of releasing me. If he did, I wouldn't be as I was at the moment. I had done what he had asked, I had distracted Sherlock down at the sewers; _manipulated his feelings_. That was my job, and it nearly cost me my life. And after escaping Scotland Yard, I believed that I had fulfilled my contract—for the second time. But for the second time I was wrong. It then became obviously that he would use me until Holmes was "defeated". But I knew that only ment until he was dead.

Then, not only a week or two ago, Moriarty found me.

_I stood at the edge of the sidewalk, waving a gloved hand, the other firmly at my side holding my white tasseled scarf. My feet were weary, and I could feel an oncoming headache. I did not feel like walking back to my room today, the wind too cold and biting. _

_After numerous carriages, carts, and horses passed, a black taxi carriage finally arrived, stopping near the edge of the pavement. The driver stepped off of the seat in front, pulling a beaten-up bowler hat off his balding head. He dipped slightly in a bow. "And where would a lovely miss like you be off to on such a cold day?"I handed him the necessary money. "The Grand please, sir." _

"_Certainly, miss!" He replied, opening the door. I gave him a small smile for his kindness and stepped inside. As the door clicked shut behind me, I caught breath in shock, feeling my blood freeze up in fear. Covered up in shadow, I could see the rim of his top hat, his jacket… everything but his face. _

"_You preformed wondrously, Ms. Adler," He applauded in mockery. "Pity your thanks was a trip to prison, but it seems as if you have done alright."_

_I settled down in my seat uncomfortably, "Scotland Yard was hardly a problem, but the fall was painful… and terrifying." With a lurch forwards, the carriage was off again, tilting roughly to the right, running over a pothole. "You got the parts you needed I presume?" I asked, still quiet uneasy, and trying to get over the shock._

"_Yes… yes…" He gave the answer to me as if it was of little importance. "Things are not yet in order, but Reordan's technology is now being put to use as we speak… Though I have come here for a different matter. Once of which concerns you." I did not make any note of reply, only listened to hear further. "I have another _task _for you." The man said slyly, holding out a small off-white envelope for me to take. I looked down from him to the little rectangle and back._

"_I have done what you have—"_

"_What makes you think you are done, Ms. Adler?" He demanded, pulling out his gun, holding it in plain view. "Have I told you that you may leave my employment? No! And what did you sign up to do? Hmm?" His words boomed in my ears. As frightened as I was I kept a straight face and quickly snatched the envelope from his leather gloved fingers. Carefully I unfolded it, as not to rip it, and quickly read its contents._

_I set the papers down on my lap, my pulse running louder and faster in my ear. "I refuse."_

"_Ahh… suddenly she does not have the stomach for these things!" Professor Moriarty laughed cruelly. Then his expression changed to more threatening. "Have you not forgotten my previous statement on the train? I _will _kill him, Irene… And you as well…"_

_My expression hardened as I bit my lower lip. _

"_It's hard to believe you've lost your nerve…" He stated as the carriage began to come down to a slow. "Take the papers, do what I have asked, and then go free. Do not follow my instructions… you know very well by now what will happen. Do not try to run away Ms. Adler. You signed up for this. You committed. Any attempt will be stopped. I can always be able to find you."_

_The door opened once again, revealing the driver. I slipped the envelope into my pocket and made my way towards the marble building of the hotel. Though as I stood up and leather hand grasped my elbow. "The _dead_line is in the information. And don't forget, I do not mind killing my employees. In fact, I rather enjoy it."_

"_Yes sir," I murmured, numb. _

I put my hand, the one still with the white glove, up to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, distant. Whatever happened to me? The daring Irene Adler, who traveled the world, sang in the opera, stole, married, did what she pleased. I was now the frightened _Ms. Adler, _caged by obligation, fear, and blackmail. Hiding in an abandoned, falling apart, townhouse in hopes she wouldn't be found by _him._ I couldn't hide forever.

I had already decided on it; I _would not_ ask for help. I couldn't ask for help. He would notice, or hear about it, and then come and kill us both. But what else was there to do? It seemed as now we were always one step away from our own deaths.

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><p><strong>Please review! Please, please, please review!<br>**

**So how did you like my very scared Irene Adler? I am open to constructive criticism, but please, no flames. I would also like some plot suggestions. You see I don't really have a plan... I just write all willy-nilly! Jk, I have a very brief plan, but I still find myself running into dead ends. PLEASE REVIEW!**

**x-Pick'n'Mix-x: Glad you liked it! Again, thank you so much for helping me with the idea. Are you gonna end up continuing that Iron Man one-shot that got this whole thing started? Hope you like this chapter!**

**Hades250: Thank you so much for commenting! Short, sweet, and strait to the point! I really hope I did the movie justice cause it was REALLY good. Infact I watched it like last night for the 4th time. **

**new lights: See, I continued it for you, so don't be sad! I'm really glad you liked it. Funny you mentioned that... they were actually kinda hard to write. I was stuck on that part for two days. Glad it payed off! Can't wait to hear from you again!**

**Google Eleanor: Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. Yeah, you've got a point. That's why I added that bit at the bottom. I don't know exactly why I did it, lol cause I'm a yank as well. I just suppose that Big Ben was too modern? For all I know they could've called it that back then. Oh well.**

** Colorblind City: After reading your comment, you made me simply very happy. I swear my day got so much better. That was probably the nicest, best complement you can give to a writer. Thank you so, so, so much. I'm really glad you like it and I hope I will not disappoint you! And like you said, there haven't been a lot of good Sherlock/Irene fics out, and I was just dying to write one, so I took it upon myself to fix that! I saw the trailer at the Harry Potter movie and freaked out. Everyone thought I was insane, lol. Anyways I hope to speed up the updates right after I finish my other fic for Lord of the Rings. So you'll be seeing more soon, don't worry! Again thank you!**

**Thank you to: new lights, Google Eleanor, xRDJ603**, **Colorblind City, Bookbrook, Dreamgirl1264 for adding this story to their favorites, or alert list. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Bonjour readers! Sorry about the late update. With school and all, I was really busy. I also was finishing up my other Fic, which took some time, but now I can concentrate on this one. Okay! I got my "Real Greek Yogurt!" pomegranate smoothie, so lets go! Lol.  
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**This chapter is dedicated to the many victims of the events on 9/11. May your courage in the face of death ever inspire and live on.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes (2009) GOT IT?**_**  
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><p><em><em>**Chapter 3: A Clue, And a Woman~**_**  
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_**Holmes**_

"I daresay I figured it out!" I laughed, approaching John with the door to the post office closing behind me; those blasted bells they used to inform the workers of incoming costumers jingling away. Oh how annoying there gay tinkling was! Not to mention I ran into them both times I walked through the door frame. The things were quite cheep anyways. The metal used was thin and of bad quality- most likely made of scrap. I hoped that the postmaster knew how badly he was cheated. The price tag was stupidly left upon the metal used to hold the bells up, hard to see, but still pointed towards the floor.

Watson let out a sigh, moving his cane up higher in his grasp. "It took you long enough—" I walked past him, not even caring to give a glance towards him. Instead, I continued staring at that little white glove. "Excuse me?" He said a small distance behind.

The ink was now permanently in the pristine material, the blue color it gave off a bit less noticeable. But I wasn't so interested in that now, seeing as that part was already solved. No, I was more interested in the hand inside the cloth. They seemed so delicate, ladylike. Though the things they did, and the woman they belonged to was quite the opposite. Well, not entirely. She could easily fool most men with that identity, for that matter any character she wanted to play.

"Holmes!"

My head snapped up, broken from my moment of thought. The sounds of the busy London streets flooded into my ears. That familiar tone in which people were yelling, chatting happily, along with the clatter of horses hooves and squeaking carriage wheels… the like. I turned around to see his brown top hat approaching quickly within a mass of moving people. The bakery owner, the woman who was selling the fish and chips down the way; just a few of whom I could easily recognize. I promptly turned my back, and stuffed the glove into my pocket, waiting for him to catch up.

"Seems as if I got ahead of myself, pardon the expression, Watson." I gave transparent smile as he joined my side, looking the normal; agitated, and ready to reprimand. As usual I tried to prevent the angered comments before they started, "I believe you were right about Ms. Adler's intentions, but wrong about the train station." I looked up to check his reaction. It surprised me to see it unwavering against my very interesting comment that normally would've gotten his attention. "Seems as if the married doctor is trying to shed his boyish habit of getting so easily annoyed. Oh come, now. I have done much more than simply leave you behind in a crowd…" I looked at him expectantly.

At least he tried to be mad at me for a good six seconds. "Out with it, then," he said quietly amongst the commotion.

I was too happy to oblige. "I entered the post office and asked to see the ink they used for correcting addresses, quick changes to letters, and whatever else deserved to be written down. The suspicious post master showed me to the back room where they stored all their supplies. As I had suspected, it was the same ink that was on the glove, and the same ink that they gave their customers."

I stuffed my hand into the pocket of my jacket to retrieve a scrap of paper with the same ink blotted on it and handed both that and the stained glove to Watson. He held them one in each hand, up to eye level. The doctor nodded, sidestepping an individual who walked between us, "Yes, _great detective_, but the train station could easily buy the same ink." The glove and paper were handed back to me.

"I have not finished yet," I reminded him, crumpling the paper and dropping it to the ground to soon be stepped on. "And this clue," I pulled a standard sized envelope, already torn open in a quick manner, out of another pocket, holding it between two leather gloved fingers in front of John. He reached for it, but I quickly pulled it away. "It took a vexing amount of time to convince the postmaster that I was to bring no harm to the owner of the letter, that I was indeed Sherlock Holmes, and that I needed it for a _very _important case." The doctor finally snatched the thing out of my hand and began fumbling to open it. Though I already knew the contents of it. They read precisely:

_L. MONTGOMERY_

_4849 LA RUE PAPILLION_

_LYON, FRANCE_

_Dear Lucas,_

_France, hmm? Quite a long way from New Jersey, now aren't we? I'm sure you're quite surprised to hear from me, but please this is a matter of importance. I'm in need of your help, and it's time we're even again._ _I need to leave London as soon as possible, and I shan't be taking public transportation due to the circumstances. Please reply with the earliest time you can bring a carriage. _

_~Irene Alder_

_P.S. What I have not told you is not for your knowing. Tell no one of this, nor let it slip from your grasp,_

"…_or we shall both lose our lives.._." Read Watson aloud, lowering the parchment. He looked at me, no clear emotion on his face. "What has she gotten herself into? I won't even begin to ponder that actually. At least your seemingly pointless quest has lead to more of a substantial clue; an address."

"Wrong, again, on both terms." I tried to keep myself composed. Some feeling of which I had never fully experience welled up inside. It was burning, like a feeling of anger, but not _driven_ out of anger. More of… worry and _passion_? Irene was in danger, quite obviously. More than she could usually handle. She was obviously more afraid than I had ever witnessed her, and she was not one to jump to panic. Those thoughts were all that ran through my normal logical mind. And _pointless _was my 'quest' to help her?

None of this showed upon my face though, only in my thoughts; the place where I could offend, criticize, and make fun of anything and everything I wanted. "The address won't help in the least. You see, the employee who gave me the letter was about to send it. He foolishly—had I been a assassin—let slip the fact that the address on the envelope was the place to which it was to have been sent. The real address had been left on a sheet of paper, supposedly atop the pile of mail that was to be sent. The idiot found this real address to be lost."

We turned the corner to approach Baker Street, Watson still looking thoughtfully at the letter. "She's covering her tracks. Whoever or whatever she's trying to escape is capable of getting hold of the letter, following her to the real address—"

"And kill them." I remarked in a nonchalant monotone, stopping in front of the door step. I turned my head to see him slightly ahead, almost at the next townhouse. Then it registered that he wasn't coming. Yes, _Mary, _and he were staying at a near-by hotel. This only bothered me because I had offered to house them; I think _Mary _was the one who turned down the invitation. I stood around for another moment, examining the pavement beneath my leather shoes. "Shall I be seeing you for dinner?" I asked nonchalantly as if I wasn't thinking about her navy blue gown stained with blood.

"Yes, that should be nice," John nodded, drawing out his silver pocket watch which clicked as he opened it. "I hope the evening will conclude on a higher note this time though…" How could I forget when he kept reminding me? I suppose the Doctor just concluded that I actually hated his wife. I didn't necessarily _hate _her… most of the time. Well, hate was a strong word in general. I could make out him mutter, "Not the Royal…" before he spoke up again.

"Perhaps nine o'clock, Cerulean? Down the way from—"

"From the church, precisely eight blocks… yes, why not? It seemed to look decent…" I responded, fishing the keys out of the pocket of my trousers. Watson had returned it to me on the outing for the post office. "A jacket, Doctor?" I couldn't help but take advantage of the situation.

He just sighed and began to wave for a taxi, stepping onto the side of the pathway towards the road. "You're sure you can enter your house without my help?" He responded without turning back.

"Of course."

"And you can make sure Gladstone won't get away while we're out?"

"Certainly."

"You know your newspaper is on the cabinet next to the bookshelf?"

"I think I get it Watson—"

"I'm not sure,"

"I am, don't worry."

"I'm not convinced—"

With that I turned the key to the door, and pushed it open with the toe of my shoe. "Have a safe journey!" I shouted over him, waving. He made a movement to follow, but a horses neigh brought him back to the approaching taxi. I could hear that Mrs. Hudson was approaching from down the hall, and I certainly didn't want to face _her _at the moment. I quickly closed the door, just as a black cab drove up to a smirking John. Then without any hesitation, I darted up the steps to my room ignoring the, "Is that you Mr. Holmes?"

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><p><em>Ding-dong… ding-dong-ding…<em>

My senses began to flood back to me. _Oh yes, the grandfather clock_, I realized thinking,_ It can't be seven already…_ My eyes opened groggily, blinking several times, trying to rid the sleepiness from their surface. I looked down to see I was lying on my desk, flooded with papers. My head rested on my folded arms, the letter and white glove crushed beneath them, Irene's picture looking straight at me.

I pushed myself up a bit, sending half of the papers floating down to the already crowed rug. Some though fell over the vent, so they held their position held in the middle of the air. I noticed the letter sliding to the edge, and immediately scrambled to fetch it. In the process, my foot hit the arm of the desk, sending Irene's picture off the side. Once everything had stopped moving, I set the papers down, and reached for the portrait, falling off the wooden chair onto my stomach.

The image of her face was seemingly perfect; tilted slightly to the left, her lips slightly parted in the smile she wore when she knew she had bested me, her clear, light eyes gazing right at the photographer, or who ever held the picture frame.

It was odd to think that a high class detective—if I may say so—had affections for a most wanted criminal. I knew, however, that it could never be. I would always be working for the law, something of which personal feelings could never get in the way of. It was also quite clear that she would always be working against the law, and if the authorities would ask me to hunt her down, or even found out I knew the mysterious unknown person who had made off with the maharaja's missing diamond, or had a scandalous affair with the Bohemian Prince… No I didn't want to address that right at the moment.

She lived the life she wanted; breaking the law when she wanted, marrying, and then divorcing, then doing it again. I found none of this bothered me.

I knew I couldn't love. I had given up my life for the law, and for science. While Watson seemed to be quite happy with the wedding date approaching, I found myself quite comfortable to stand back and watch couple happily kiss each other, and enjoy a world I had separated myself from. They seemed quite content; a pair of lovers. But if I were to find myself anyone, it would open up weakness for advisories. Weak was something I couldn't be with the job I had. But I was now becoming afraid I had already let my affections begin to eat away at me. I followed her, allowing Moriarty to steal the device. And now hear I was, contemplating my feelings for her. This was certainly not what I should be doing… or more the less thinking.

But I was not about to let herself get killed, out of love or not. Besides once I helped her get out of the pinch she was in, she'd leave as soon as she got the chance to.

I checked the clock absentmindedly, putting the picture down on my desk purposely with the frame down. It was a bit past eight o'clock now, and Watson had said to be there at nine. _Might as well get dressed so he won't have a reason to continually worry about bringing you anywhere with Mary. _I stood up, partially dreading several hours of pretending to enjoy being surrounded by snooty rich folk. Their conversations were never of interest; normally around the topics of what they had just bought to parties and the like.

I stepped around a pile of books, the ones I which I believe included all my science volumes. To ensure my balance, I grasped the windowsill. A sudden flash of movement below on the road caught my eye, and sent my head to look in that direction without thinking at all. There was no one below, just a couple of garbage bins, no place to hide—I found that out myself. Whoever it was down there; squirrel or person, seemed to be off again. And they seemed to be rather careless as well.

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><p><strong>I was so happy with the amount and the quality of the comments this week! Thank you to everyone, and keep it up! : ) More help on the plot would be helpful, and constructive criticism is always welcomed! No flames please.<br>**

**Google Eleanor: I'm sorry my summary tricked you into thinking that, lol. I probably should change that... But I'm really glad you liked the story so far. And thank you for what you said on Irene. I was really hoping that I wouldn't mess her up cause a lot of the story rides on her... hint, hint. Again thank you! I can't wait to hear from you again!**

**SayuriTsukiko**: **I loved your comment! Thank you, thank you! I'm glad I didn't disappoint. Yeah china dolls, especially at night time, just creep me out. *shivers* I love you too, haha. Hope to hear from you again!**

**Colorblind City: Gosh, I just really love your Pen Name. It was nice to get another review from you. Glad to see you got so excited! All your questions shall be answered in time, don't worry. But that's all I can say. Patience is a virtue right? I'm glad I made the dolls so creepy. My friend had a dummy in her house on a shelf, and it would scare me SO bad. That's where my inspiration came from. But ya know, a lot of dolls are scary at night... I wonder...**

**Lady Vicodin: Thank you! Your comment was very short, sweet, strait to the point! **

**What 1987: Again, thank you for your plot suggestions, which I am pondering at this moment, your corrections, and for reviewing. I'm very glad you liked it. Your comments/corrections helped a lot, and I shall begin to put them into action. The rest I covered in my PM to you, correct? Hopefully I'll get to hear more from you!**

**Dbananad****: Thanks! Hope this was soon enough, but if not, my other ones should go quicker.**

**DarkestAngel11: Gracias! I liked your comment. Hope you enjoy!**

**Roxi: Jared the rainbow unicorn with a sparkly orange nose ate tacos all day long. He lived with the butterflies in the magical world of Narnico. The end : )**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi again folks! Sorry this update took so long. You know, I really wanted to get to write, but life gets in the way sometimes. I hope you enjoy this chapter 'cause it took me three times to get it right lol. Jk! If you haven't noticed, the rating went up to a T, so just letting you know. Oh! And also, I realized my first chapter has a subtitle, but 2 and 3 don't. So I'm going back and adding them, starting here. Hope you enjoy! Comment responses at the bottom.  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes (2009)**

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><p><strong>~Chapter 4: Red Rain, The Pawn, and Deserted to Die<strong>

"Loving you is like trying to touch a star, I know I can never reach you, but I can't help but try." Unknown

_**Irene Adler**_

The night was even colder than the daylight hours before, and the winds were far more biting. Something about the wicked howl, one like a dog's, that swept through the surroundings made it all the more eerie, especially with the bullets of water that fell like darts, stung like a blow, and froze your skin even more. Light was almost nonexistent now, for even the moon deserted me, leaving the sky a soulless black. Everything else was as dark as my fear, too, pardoning the two flickering lanterns hanging from the front of the carriage, just enough so that the driver could see the road ahead. I prayed that the driver had brought extra matches. Before, I had always clung to the shadows in order to hide from Scotland Yard, or who knows what. And now I had what I wanted; a moonless, pitch-black night and all I wanted most was a streetlamp.

There was something in the air that was very unsettling. Maybe it was the frigid cold, and the thumping of the raindrops pelting the frame of the vehicle. Or perhaps the squeaking wheels, constant jerks and bumps, or the unnerving whinny the horses let out every so often. It could easily be all of them. Though there are those times where one can tap into their second sense and feel that call of a nightmare about to come a reality. In my work, the raising of the hairs on my neck had saved me upon a couple accounts, but this was the only time I wasn't able to do anything about it.

Well, of course I could tell the driver to turn back to London, but it was now an hour and a half riding time away. But that time was now increasing as every second drew by in a painful thought of what ifs. The only way I could draw myself from that was by watching the raindrops as they slid down the glass door of the window.

I was to go catch a boat to France. A friend of mine was to help me find my way back into a spot at the Paris Opera house, and I would go back to the life I knew earlier. But the one question kept prodding me: _He _wouldn't follow me, would he? _How could you possibly think that now? _I scolded myself internally, _we haven't even gotten out of the clear yet._

That was now the most chilling thought now. He couldn't possibly let me escape without a fight. Though maybe he would, just to watch me suffer mentally and become obsessively paranoid. And then, when the time came, stab me with a sinister smile. My previous try upon the train was futile, and since he had made it quite clear that if I were to try something of the same act again, Sherlock would die. At the moment my mind was to numb to even think about opening my front door in Paris, only to see the bloodied body of the detective, complete with a note saying how I had brought his horrible end.

Even though I was quite eager to leave behind the everyday fear of what Moriarty would ask me to do, or do to me, I could not ignore the remorseful sigh that would probably always plague me. I would miss Sherlock… quite terribly. There never seemed to be any chance of him agreeing to a relationship with me, nor would I ever dare to think of one possible. But all the same, my feelings got the best of me. I wondered if he would miss me at all. Perhaps he'd be glad to have interference, such as myself, out of his hair. He probably would if he saw the envelope in my pocket; that dreaded thing sealed with a ripped M. I would not dare to look at it again, but if it strayed anywhere there was always a chance of someone finding it. And that would lead to far worse trouble.

I couldn't remember my thoughts as I ventured in the direction of 221B Baker Street. What was the purpose of sweeping by? A final good-bye? A small glance of one I loved just to make me regret my dangerous decision once more? It was in vain, and I was almost caught, but maybe it could lead him back to me somehow. I tried not to tarry on that hope for long.

The wheels made another sharp creek that could make ones ears bleed. My gloved hand clenched against my wrist tightened more, causing a small pain to burn from under the sleeve of my elegant black traveling dress. It didn't matter to me at all now. The carriage took a sudden lurch to the left, stronger than the others that I had experienced. I had to grip the door handle to keep myself from sliding off the padded seat. And then to my greatest dread, we stopped moving.

I liked to pretend it was my nerves getting the best of me, like there was nothing to fear at all. A wheel perhaps needed to be oiled, and after, we could carry on to Dover, across the water to Calais, and then to Paris. If the wheel broke, or the axel snapped, well of course the driver has an extra just in case.

"Missus?" The driver called from the outside. I opened the door just a crack to hear him more clearly. The rain splattered on my wrist as I held the door tight. He neared, holding one of the carriages lamps in one hand, his bowler hat casting an eerie shadow across his face.

"…Yes?" I managed to ask among my racing thoughts.

He took a hand to wipe the water from his coat. "T'ree of the spokes on the wheel snapped like uh twig. Then the rest of 'em wheel cracked under its lack o' support, ya know."

"You have another one of course, sir?" I dreaded the response to his question.

"Well… uh…" He looked down at his muddy shoes, which were now soaked in the puddles forming on the dirt road. My stomach plummeted. "Charlie said we didn't needs extra wheels, that's right. So's I didn't bring none." I tried to control my urge to pull out one of the guns hidden in my dress and shoot him right on the spot. "Don't worry Missus, I can ride ba' to London, get another in less than maybe t'ree hours. The horses, they're fine—"

"I'm not about to wait here in the rain for three hours."I exclaimed bitterly, my face hardening. My free hand stroked the hilt of the silver dagger in my sleeve. "Is there any way to fix the wheel? Anyway at all?" The darkness of the surrounding world seemed to grow. The billowing fields and bushes where like oceans of shadows, the trees reaching down to snatch me and enclose me in the darkness.

"Well I dunno, Missus…" He stumbled into the puddle again. I fished into my drawstring pouch and as I kicked open the carriage door; I brought out my small revolver pistol, glinting in the light of the lamp. Its end looked straight into the man's face, my own swearing that I would shoot. His eyes were wide with shock, and his hands immediately flew up to into the thick air.

"I'll take one of the horses on my own." I stated curtly, the butt of the revolver knocking the bowler hat off the driver. "I'll get my bags and unhitch one of the horses." I reloaded the handheld pistol.

He stuttered some words I couldn't make out through his thick accent. I didn't often show my "true colors" or so said someone awhile back, to most, but the prickle on the back of my neck was so strong now, I felt as if the timer was almost up. I finally broke, seeing as he didn't seem to doing anything. The revolver went off into the air, the gunshot booming amongst the silence. The poor cabby drew back in a small cry and I instantly knew I made a mistake. "Hurry on then!" I almost screamed, jumping off my seat and into the puddle myself. And that was all it took for him to scuttle off to the horses.

With revolver still in hand, I lifted the hem of the lace trimmed skirts of my traveling dress. The sheer black lace neckline was now appearing to be an even more stupid idea, so I pulled my maroon scarf around my neck wider. I put a hand to my forehead to wipe my auburn curls from my face, now drenched and sticking to my face. The rest hung in wet ringlets down to the small of my back. My heeled boots sloshed and stuck into the mud as I nearly sprinted to the back of the carriage, and unlocked the handle with a click.

I pulled the smallest green suitcase out of the pile, looking for a place to set it where it wouldn't sink into a deep mud puddle. The rain began to pour harder, and the wind nearly whistled wildly like a scream. My thoughts drifted to the Irish myth of the banshee; the woman who would scream as if… I swallowed hard as I realized the truth of the message. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind as another gunshot filled the air followed by a pair of horses' terrified whinnies and a loud splash. I loaded my revolver, and slipped the dagger from my sleeve. With both raised, I fought the feeling of foreboding and stepped towards the side of the carriage.

The driver lay face first in the mud puddle, now colored with crimson. The bullet hole was skillfully placed in the back of his head, with trails of red running into the puddle down his neck. The lamp he held had now shattered, the light gone. The only left flame resided hooked on the carriage, too far from reach. I looked to the horses, only to find them running together into the far away darkness. My heart failed me, and I found my gaze back upon the dead driver. The repulsive sight nearly made me let out a gasp, but I bit my tongue. I only knew one person who could land a shot like that.

My blood was now frozen. My mind now only thinking of a way to escape, each idea lost in futility. Surviving was the only thing on my mind, finding myself stiff and unable to make myself move. The revolver in my hand was now useless, the dagger as well. I was as good as dead. I struggled to hold onto my calm façade, and my unbreakable, proud posture. With as much dignity as I could muster, I lowered the revolver and held my head up high. I was about to offer words to the faceless fear, but another gunshot filled my ears once again. The next noise was far louder.

In a flash of pink, orange, and yellow a deafening eruption of noise seemed to make my eardrums burst. A thousand things hit me at once— something heavy, shards of glass, and burning. Lots of fire. I was flying, the rain unable to be felt upon my skin now, no mud beneath my boots. There was no more light now, just darkness. I could not escape now. Just pray for the end to come swift to bring me out of the shadows and the pain.

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><p>The man walked slowly upon the slosh, broken glass, and the carnage of the explosion. His leather shoes brushed against a blackened wooden board. It flipped limp onto its other side, one of its ends sinking into the red mud. Dawn was nearly breaking, red in the sky as well, and flight was soon necessary. The water had ceased falling from the heavens and was now thoroughly soaked into the road. The clouds remained heavy still, but blue was now creeping into the pallor of the sky.<p>

The results of his maneuverings were quite to his liking, he found as he strayed to examine the results. The explosion measured precisely where he wanted it to land, the ones who he wanted dead were indeed dead, and the ones who weren't were taken care of for the moment. _Reordan__ was quite _kind _to give such a nice supply of that liquid…_ he mused to himself, picking up a shard of glass, crimson stained on its corner. He let it drop with a carelessness that seemed so soulless, as if he was a ghost.

He silently crept towards the side of the road, strewn with parts of the wreck here and there. A tall grass covered the land from there till a field long over the horizon. The tops of the shriveling brown lines were now black from the events several hours ago, the carriage still a flame. Lying, partially hidden was the woman; hair tangled with the long grasses, matted with blood, her black lace dress torn, burnt and maroon as well. The man didn't need to feel for her pulse to know she was alive. He had timed it perfectly so that she would only be wounded. He did not have any hope to teach her a lesson at all, just to lure her lover to the bait.

He had originally intended to bring the unconscious woman back with him, make her endure more of a torture or two and then watch as the detective comes back to rescue her like a night of yore. But the plan he had in mind seemed more appealing now, and would end up helping in the end. Patience is a virtue, is it not? This little pawn of his would play the role he cut out for her, whether she was aware or not. And if not, well she still had the note in her pocket.

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><p><strong>Free cyber-buffet to everyone who reviews! Comments, plot suggestions, and constructive criticism are always welcomed. And I have to say, the cyber buffet is really cyber-tasty!<strong>

** What 1986: Glad that you returned, and it's always nice to see your reviews. I hope the mystery deepens even more here, and I really liked your comment on the how he noticed the bells. I bet it must stink at times to notice EVERYTHING, like really annoying. Anyways thanks for your comments!**

**Colorblind City: Married couple is the perfect word for them! Hahaha! I personally thought that their banter ("Get that thing out of my face." "It's not in my face it's in my hand."...) was really key to the movie. Glad you enjoyed it : ) Yeah, it's hard for this detective. I mean he's so smart that he is actually very aware that he's in love with Irene, but he can't really do anything about you know. So denying it would be a waste of time I guess, well that's how I see it. I'm looking forward to hearing from you again!**

**sedarephs: Thank you very much! I shall strive to keep up the work, don't worry. Thanks for the comment.**

**Google Eleanor: ELEANOR! I'm so glad you reviewed! I was gonna be really sad cause I hadn't heard from you, but then I got the email alert and it made my day! I'm sorry I didn't update soon. Trust me, if I had time I would've. You shall soon learn young padawon (sorry star wars reference. I DON'T OWN STAR WARS!), Irene's plan shall be revealed in a couple chapters or so. And thank you for the corrections, I'll go and fix those after updating. Sorry, I'm a yank, I don't really know that stuff. I really would like to live in the UK though! I'm glad your enjoying this so much, and it really makes me smile when I read your comments. Can't wait to here from you again!**

**Bye all! Please review! The cyber-buffet smells really good!  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5  
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**~Footprints, Down Pour of Rain, and Moment of Realization~  
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_**Holmes**_

I stepped out of the door with the stiff and starched tweed jacket properly on, itchy waistcoat fastened, and neck tie nearly choking theair from my throat. I was quite thankful that Mrs. Hudson had left early this evening (since it was of course Saturday). Not only because I was rid of yet another menace that I normally had to avoid, or had to worry about my tea being poisoned. No, I was just glad I didn't have to listen to her most obnoxious comments such as, "Well I'd never have guessed, Mr. Holmes! All dressed-up tonight, and the Doctor didn't have to come and force you to get in those clothes himself! Ha!" I didn't see why I didn't just fire her. Oh, yes, of course. John was paying her. What a surprise.

I made my way down the front steps, the dress shoes I had stolen from Watson not too long ago, making themselves known that they were too small. The fact that I could hardly move the rest of me helped to ignore the tight pinching from my feet. At least I would not get ridiculed on not wearing appropriate dinner attire.

I slipped my pocket watch from my jacket, and held it to eye level, the street lamp illuminating its face since it was already nightfall. The hands read precisely eight twenty four, so I had plenty of time to spare. _My violin needs a look at_, I thought, remembering Gladstone making me drop it in the middle of practicing with a loud bark at an unfortunate squirrel near the window. For some reason I didn't feel like fetching the instrument and travelling to the shop down the street. My blistering feet decided to take me somewhere else.

At first, to my knowledge, I seemed to be wandering, walking nowhere in particular. But it soon became apparent that I was walking towards the alley of which I saw the flash of movement. I stopped halfway in, the streetlamps light unable to reach where I stood, now enveloped in shadow. A drop of rain landed on the brim of my hat, sending a small vibration through the material. I walked mechanically backwards so I was in a spot where light hit the deserted alley way. The dusty floor, which was now filling with wet spots, was now marked with the imprints of my shoes. But my footprints seemed to have some companions.

I bent down on one knee, looking at each different print on the dusty floor. My conscious propelled me to go a bit faster, more raindrops falling. With each drop, more and more evidence vanishing.

There was a rather large print near one of the rubbish bins; wide and obviously from a male. In my mind's eye I could picture the stout and short man peering into the can looking for something that could still be of use.

Five steps away from his were a very small, child's footprint. The tips of the shoes were rounded in a feminine shape, so I could easily guess it was the neighbor's little girl who had perhaps dropped something from the window and had gone to fetch it. I was correct, finding a teddy-bear shaped mark in the dust only a bit away.

After a bit more looking I came across the imprint I was searching for: A shoe size eight, slim, heel in the back, pointed front. The traces of a dress following these were also apparent. _Lord, what was she doing here? _ With a loud fall of what sounded like beads, the rain began to pick up substantially. I peered up at the sky; eyes squinted, to look up. I was met with several pelts of water, but was able to determine that the rain would last for awhile. Quickly I went back to my work.

The footprints led deeper into the dark alley, until vanishing into the pitch-black dead end. It looked foreboding, but it was nothing to be worried about. It was quite obvious that no one was hiding there. I pushed up onto my feet and positioned my pocket watch at the entrance of alley-way so that the streetlights lamp reflected off of its silver surface. I turned the object this way and that, searching for anything out of the ordinary. And soon I had found it: a green (wet) leather suitcase. From its weight in my hand, it was obvious that the luggage was packed to the fullest to its maximum capacity. Full of things one could not move without.

_4849 LA RUE PAPILLION_ _LYON, FRANCE… France…Gone… _

"She actually left," I whispered to no one—well, unless I counted. And it seemed at that moment, I was the only one who did.

The memories of our first encounter, _our _room, the Blackwood case meetings, chasing her onto the bridge, a run into her at the park… The usual logical side of me spoke up now, telling me that I should've seen this coming with a very agitated tone. Yes, I knew she sent the letter to Lucas Montgomery for a reason, but I had never expected her to actually leave… and without even visiting or telling me.

The blow struck me surprisingly hard, harder than it should have. It was as if a part of me was cut out, leaving it with empty, soulless air. I was stripped of her, now separated by distance as well as the other things that always tore at my mind. And then the yearning; the wishing for something that was nearly mine. Or maybe I was never close to winning the divorcé's affections, and all she was doing was holding the bait right in reach only to pull it away. The lot of it—the idea that I even cared for the world-class criminal… why couldn't I decode my own mind like the mind's of those involved in my cases.

_But it was a case_, I thought, as the wind began to pick up the falling droplets which had now thoroughly seeped into my skin, clothes, and everything that the water could wind its way into. I was right, she was the victim or the one accused: running away from someone or committing some crime. At the moment, I cared not for which it was. Adler, Ms. Adler, Irene Adler, Irene, _the _Woman was now gone.

Somehow I arrived at my front door. The moment I stepped in, the carpet to the entrance of the house was flooded. The fancy tweed jacket, which had already seemed stupid, was now like wearing a weight. Avoiding ridicule or not, I could not bear the thing anymore. In a struggle of an angry man against a clinging article of clothing, the man won, throwing his opponent onto the ground. The suitcase dropped to the floor in this process, spilling its contents. It took me a moment to absorb this fact, quickly jumping the hope that there could be evidence within her items to prove she was not leaving.

_What is the matter with you? _My logical mind suddenly yelled. The haziness of loss had now cleared in a mere second. _You're acting as if you're a lovesick youth! You are one of the highest-ranking detectives! Gather yourself, you fool! _My pulse calmed down to a more normal pace as I paused for a small while, shaking free the emotion filled thoughts.

Once I was finally cleansed of rash notions, and any feeling of affection, I took a glance at the grandfather clock. Its hands read eight thirty. _They'll be here in a half an hour._ I looked around at the mess I had just created through the entrance hall. I was annoyed to admit that I wished Mrs. Hudson was there, but only to clean up after me.

"Might as well start with the easiest," I grumbled, bending over and picking up the heavy coat filled with water. With an annoyed sigh, I put it upon the coat rack. Small droplets from the sleeves fell to the carpet, making it thoroughly soaked. But water was not the only thing that fell from the coat.

The damp piece of parchment, which I had apparently kept in my pocket, now lay on the ground. I immediately identified it as Irene's letter to her friend in Paris. Then its contents returned to my memory.

"Oh shh…" I smacked my forehead with more force than intended, and I would not have been surprised if a bruise would appear there next morning. The image of Moriarty's gun clicking in front of my face replayed, but this time before the woman's. My idiocy had blurred the rest of letter, the part of which revealed she was in danger. And who was she working for? The Professor. _How stupid of her to believe she could get away from him without aid! _He wouldn't let her get away that easily.

I couldn't help but wonder what tie to London was finally cut, knowing that she had tried to escape before but found herself unable. Perhaps I was only unaware that the force was Moriarty and not something else, but I had little time for pondering.

I darted up the stairs to my room, grabbed an ink well, a piece of parchment and scribbled the following words:

_Watson and my dear Mary,_

_I'm sure that you are surprised to the fact that I am not in my home when you have come to bring me to dinner. First and least foremost, no, I am not running away from having an outing with you. Second and first foremost, Adler is trying to escape London, Watson. The Professor will hardly allow this. I shall be trying to hunt the person down, in order to prevent them and protect them in case things go askew. _

_ Have a lovely evening,_

_ S. Holmes_

_P.S. I plan to return by next evening, if I do not, I will need assistance._

Folding the parchment, I quickly stamped it with a red seal to keep it closed. I reached for my most comfortable coat and hat, my usual detective equipment, and two loaded revolver pistols (which were normally part of the equipment as well). With that I was down the flight of stairs again. My ink blotted hands fumbled from the strong urge to bolt out the door as I placed the note in the most obvious spot I could think of.

_The insufferable woman is in danger once again,_ the same sentence replayed inside my head. These were followed by very vividly disturbing images of what would happen if I got there too late… if I was already too late.

Sliding upon the drenched carpet, I sprinted out of the door. One hand was stuffed into my pocket, the other clenching the trigger to the pistol. I hailed down a cabby who seemed to take ages, though I knew it was only five minutes or so. As soon as he drew the carriage up to the sidewalk I briskly said, "Your headquarters please, I must speak with your boss." And with that we departed in search of a spirit; something nearly impossible to capture, and something with a target upon its back.

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><p>The door to 221B Baker Street opened quickly, letting in two very wet and impatient peoples.<p>

"Holmes!" Watson shouted from the bottom of the stairwell. "How nice of you to let us in! I hope you're ready for the evening outing?" No response once again. "Holmes!" Nothing.

Mary Mortenson shifted her navy blue umbrella to her other hand in a shower of clear liquid. She looked at her fiancé, whose face was now growing red in frustration. "John," she remarked quietly, "Do you think he left?"

"He better have not…" He grumbled as he began to climb the way to his friend's room. Mary took a step to follow but the doctor turned around and said, "I shall only be but a minute, dearest!" She stopped, and gave a small disapproving smile.

As one pair of angry footsteps stomped about upstairs, the lady look a moment to glance around the entrance hallway. _True, _she thought as she looked upon the toppled contents of the desk nearest the door, _it never was never the tidiest of places_… With slow paces, she made her way over to the small table, picking up the small oddities of which populated the detective's home, which she secretly found fascinating. In her gloved fingers, she played around with an antique-looking spy glass, holding it before her eyes. Amazed at how much larger the magnification made objects appear, she used it to look at some of the other things upon the desk. It didn't take much time for her to locate a folded letter with "Watson" in messy cursive.

Unable to help herself, Mary brought the letter from the cluttered mess, and pulled the edge from the red wax seal. Her eyes quickly read its contents.

"John!"

The gentleman ran to the top of the stairs upon hearing his fiancé's cry. "Is something the matter?" He asked, his eyes wandering to the letter in her hand.

Mary quickly handed him the letter through the banister. He read it with an unreadable face as the doctor came down to the main floor. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on the piece of parchment.

"Who are these people: Adler, the Professor?" The lady asked, clearly perplexed. She tried to get a view of Watsons face as to see what he was thinking. "He's not actually in danger right, John?"

"If he's dealing with Moriarty," He spoke slowly, once again confusing Mary, "Then he's in danger far worse than his and my understanding."

_Holmes! _Watson cursed him internally, _look what this… this woman has lead you into! And your instructions on what to do if you needed assistance—how am I to find you?_

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><p><strong>Thank you to everyone who favorite-ed or put this story on their alert list. Makes me happy! Want to help me with the story? What do you think Irene Adler's note, given to her by Moriarty says? Plot suggestions, anything. I'm very open to suggestions and constructive criticism. Please R&amp;R Thanks!<strong>

**SayuriTsukiko: Hai again! Don't worry about it! Thank you very much! Yay, I wanted it to seem she was, but I would never actually kill her... maybe just _immobilize _her *wink, wink*. I shall say no more on that subject. Yeah, I hate when people kill her off to, lol. Again thanks for reviewing!**

**sedarephs****: It was a lot of fun writing the "true color" side of Irene, and surprisingly easy (well easier than most chapters). I bet there will more of that side of her yet to come. Thank you! Can't wait to here more from you!**

**DarkestAngel11: Thank you, it was awesome to write. Hehe, glad I was able to trick you for a moment : ) Sorry that this took so long again, life gets in the way. Don't worry, are great detective is on his way as we speak!**

**Way Worse Than Scottish: Interesting Pen Name. You'll have to tell me what's behind it. I read your comment for a moment and was like, "Oh no! My story bored this poor person to sleep with my long description paragraphs!" But then I read on and felt better. I'll take that into consideration. Thanks for commenting!**

**Colorblind City: I'm so glad that my long descriptions didn't go to waste, lol. I personally love when I can picture stuff in my head, so I'm glad you enjoyed that! And thanks. All I can say is, the contents of the note shall be revealed in less than three chapters, so it won't be long now! Can't wait to hear more from you!  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Greetings again! Sorry this update took so long. I got [painful] braces, took first semester assessments, Halloween... I promise the next chapter will be out by the end of November. Thank you for your patience! Hope you like the new summary, which you can check out on chapter 1.**

**Warning: There's some blood in this chapter but nothing absolutely horrible.**

**Please ****review! I have a whole bunch of cyber-cookies this week! I apologize, begging ****is very unbecoming...  
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><p><em><strong>Chapter 6~Red, Black, and White<strong>_

**"The essence of life is finding something [or someone] you really love..." -Denis Waitley**_**  
><strong>_

_**Holmes**_

Dark navy painted the heavens, and darkness was still heavy upon the land. A bright lantern in my hand kept away the shadow. The rain that had accompanied me for the ride was thinning away, leaving me frozen to the bone, and infinitely more wet. My eye-lids continued to drag down before my sight from lack rest. Finding out that a reserved carriage on the way to Dover was not seen of or heard from in a while was harder to discover than it sounded—especially if the manager of the company was a perfect idiot. He wouldn't even let me borrow a confounded vehicle, despite my quite large sums of money that were offered. So a horse was the quickest mode of transportation.

To only make my mood bitterer, and my rescue attempt much more futile, I was ripped off by the horse seller. The pony, who I had now named "Wretched Imbecile II" (the first sometimes being Gladstone) or Sir Will for short, was lame in one leg. This was unknown to be for I had not taken the time to inspect the beast, only ask for the fastest mare that the store had. The only way I kept myself from ripping my own head off was by thinking of how the fools would cope after I sent the police after them.

Up until now, the road was completely soaked, making the brown dirt path become more of a mud pit and impossible to find traces of a carriage without walking along the mud. The time which was needed for that was not possible.

Fields of tall grass, which sparkled dully with the dew drops laden upon their limbs, surrounded me on either side. I kept my eyes strained for any sight of her and for any folk at all. For the tall grass made for a very good coverage if one wanted to not be seen… or spring an ambush.

The fight against sleep was becoming more and more desperate. _How long has it been now? _I thought, jerking up again in hopes that the movement would shake away the provoking tiredness. _Three hours? _

Sir Will took another stumble to the left. I grabbed the hair which made up his mane, closing my eyes in hopes I wouldn't fall off. "Keep going!" I urged through gritted teeth, as the animal continued to wobble. It tilted to the right, much deeper. I tightened my hold on my saddle when the horse fell onto its lame leg.

"Confound it all!" I nearly screamed and hit the beast, who whinnied in pain. _Irene is probably about to be shot, or be blown up— Perhaps a good combination of the two at this very moment. Maybe it could've happened three hours ago. Or perhaps she has gotten captured and is being tortured. _I embarrassedly admitted to John later that the very thought of that made my gut (some would call it my heart) plummet. _Every moment that is wasted is another possibility. And all this wasted time and energy on this "top of his class" horse is not worth it. _

With that I sprang off the poor creature, and landed in ankle deep mud. The lanterns flame shivering a bit from the movement. Sir Will stared at me as if I was a hunter and he was like a wounded fox ready for the last bullet. I felt a pang of pity, having caused the beast the trouble of bringing me here, and for not having the sense to turn around and get another. Death seemed to be a bitter end for this house, even if he did slow me down quite a bit. But perhaps the great human misery wasn't bitter at all, and we had no idea of it. _You're getting side tracked Holmes. This sympathy is not logical._

I brought out my frozen to the touch revolver.

Then suddenly, a strong, penetrating wind coming from up the road brought 'round another great chill to my soaked body covered in drenched clothing. One of those protesting religious men during the Blackwood case might have claimed that the wind had come to save the lame pony. More importantly, it carried a familiar scent and the black clouds of smoke.

"I apologize, Sir Will," I murmured before taking off at a dead sprint. The lanterns light seeming smaller now, the only thing to keep me from becoming lost in the surrounding shadow.

The land past before me now in every detail, for my attentions were now looking for a hint, a clue, a woman. The overflow of emotion was a very strange sensation, as if I was madly craving something out of reach. But it was more of a passion, an unquenchable desire. While it didn't make me feel any less of a love struck fool, it managed to propel me forward, just as the hawkish ice began to numb my legs.

The first thing that caught my eye was a wheel—well a blackened crisp that used to be a wheel. I slowed down instantly as the mud which made up the road was now powdered of grey ash. Bits of severely burnt bits of wood lay around my feet and staggered around many parts of the rest of the road. Barely any full pieces of the carriage, which I guessed was the piece before it was ultimately destroyed, were left remaining. Shards of glass, from the window, stuck deep into the mud with their sharp edges sticking up like ragged teeth.

A small patch of ash was still aflame, the fire ablaze with a pink hue. It was now quite obvious who was responsible for this. My already proven educated guess was now quite solid.

A frenzy of trepidation rose inside; a feeling of helplessness and being too late. The thought that I could've prevented this outcome plagued my thoughts with grief. _But you were too late... You are too late… _Then with sudden horrification at the emotion height I was at, I attempted to push it all back down and began to walk among the carnage. But the image of her beautiful eyes ever gazing past where I could follow, cold, never blinking… It would not disappear.

_I wonder what John would think of you if he saw the shape you were in now. _I thought dryly, trying to keep myself from despairing. _Ha! The great detective falling into _despair_? The very thought! _No matter what the doctor might have taunted, I truly wished that he came along, or at least came out to fetch me. It was quite obvious the pony couldn't take me back to London.

Lost in my thoughts I hardly noticed the body of a shabbily clad man, face first in the mud. It was only until I nearly tripped on him that he came to my attention. In quick haste I set down my light next to me and kneeled down to inspect his cause of death. A simpleton could have easily seen that his end was brought by a gun, the bullet nailed skillfully in the back of the neck, made for a quick and silent finish. The blood which had poured from the wound had signified that his murder had happened from one to two hours before my arrival. The survival chances of the woman were looking even bleaker.

I got up, lantern in hand, mud and ash now covering my shoes and trousers. I gazed down at the mud again noting that it seemed to be watery so footprints would be nearly impossible to identify. Water would have surely covered them up. The only seemingly quick way to find something in the mess of ash and burnt crisps was the old fashioned way—looking.

With a hallow and hopeless heart, I sloshed over to the side of the road where the long grass met with the dirt until turning into a long field that stretched over the horizon. Further up the road was a forest that was sure to be my next search spot. For now I settled with looking around my area. In the softening darkness I began to raise the lantern, but then there was a change of heart.

_Why should I be looking for my own down fall? _I asked myself, my hand falling back to my side. _This actress has only been toying with you for her own entertainment. She leaves you just to laugh as you try to catch her. Feelings for you, hmm? _ _**Love**__ is a word that doesn't seem to be in her vocabulary, much less your own. How do you know you __**love**__ her? How can you define __**love**__? She does not __**love**__. She only wants what comes with it. You very well know that. Why else would she marry so many other unfortunate men? _I felt as though my own thoughts were harsh words; slaps across the face. Only because they _were_ quite logical.

Suddenly the passion fueling this search, this vain, futile search, vanished without a trace. Hate began to arise inside.

I turned on my heel in the direction of the tall grass field, the nearest blades burnt and still sizzling. _You're out in the middle of who knows where, in the freezing cold, with no food, no water, NOTHING! And who drove you to this? _I kicked a scorched piece of wheel into the field. But the sound which followed was not one of mud, but of something solid.

"Irene!"

I dashed into the long field of the tall and shriveling plants which came up to past my knees. The lantern revealed a patch of which the grass seemed to be missing, but I could now see that they were crushed under a body with almost glowing white pale skin, and a black dress. The past emotions were jumbled away; elation that I had found her overcame them. The only thought now was praying that she was breathing.

After what seemed like an eternity, I came upon her still form. At first sight, I nearly closed my eyes. Many of my nightmarish thoughts had been confirmed. She was upon her side leaning over to hide her front side and face from me but it was quite obvious to that she was injured; even from the distance of which I stood (five or so feet) I could make out that the black traveling dress she wore was stained with blood in many a place. I rushed over, now quite concerned of what was next to come.

I kneeled down beside her, and put the lamp next to her head. She made no noise or sign of living.

Gently, as if handling a child, I slid one hand under her ribcage and the other beneath where her legs were bent. It was easy to see that her limbs were tangled up in unhealthy positions as if she was thrown about like a play toy. Even by feeling the fabric of her clothes I knew that she was freezing, as she was soaked in water just as I. Slowly, I drew her up so that her head was to rest upon my lap, laying down her body into a more normal position with the accompaniment of bones cracking and making other worrying noises.

Her normally pale complexion seemed to have dropped whiter by three shades, seemingly deathly. Her eye lids were squinted shut in pain, as if she was expecting this to happen before it occurred. The rest of her features were akin to this, twisted slightly from the immense shock. Cuts and slashes tore at her skin, the red such a contrast to white and black. Smudges of black soot, ash, and mud covered her normally square and beautiful cheeks and forehead.

The rest of her was hardly any better. Shards of glass, more bits of wood, and even some pieces of metal dug into her skin and fell around her, drawing maroon as well. Mud and yet more blood soaked into the wet material which was torn at the edges and around the sleeves. Her left shoulder seemed to be in the worse condition though; the most red lay there, making it appear to be where her heart was. But I was quite sure the bullet hit higher than the mark it was aiming for.

I grasped my hand around her cold one, and leant in to put my ear to the woman's heart. I closed my eyes and prayed.

Silence…

Silence…

_thump…_

I exhaled loudly, and squeezed the hand I held as if to assure her that she would be alright now. Irene was alive. I held her thin and light form to my chest, knowing how cold she must be. I placed my hand within the messy tangles of her auburn hair. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again…" I breathed, setting her back down.

_Oh the trouble you're in when you wake up, _I thought, sliding off my freezing jacket and placing it about her shoulders. _Only trouble is, we're stuck out here until Watson can figure out to come and get us—_

"How touching…" Someone laughed from above me, cool metal pressing against my forehead.

_Correction; _I thought, remaining motionless,_ there's a more pressing trouble than I just thought. _

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><p><strong>What a nice cliff hanger to leave you with, hm? <strong>**Perhaps to ****encourage me to write the next chapter quickly you could write a review for me? Why thank you! Comments, criticism, ****plot ideas, any thing is wanted and accepted. Thank you!**

**sardarephs~Thank you for this very lovely review! You are very kind. Glad I could get that across to you, the reader. Hope to hear from you soon! Again thanks!**

**Lady Vicodin~ Hope you enjoyed "more" of the story : ) Thanks for leaving a comment! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! I'm so glad the week is over... school was DREADFUL complete with a bad math test. And to add to that, I needed to get a new email and delete the old one. Yeah, fun time... Oh well, now I have a lot of time to write! Yay!**

**Warning: Tiniest bit of language, plus a pinch of blood, stir it together with a bit of Irene and Sherlock and you get this chapter! (eww that dish sounds gross) Nothing too bad, its rated T after all.**

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><p><strong>~Chapter 7~ Petticoats, Chats, and Gunshots<strong>

_**Adler**_

A hand, hardly delicate in its size, yet seemingly highly trained, touched lightly upon my shoulder. The gesture was so tentative, almost afraid of something; it reminded me of when a child handled glass. Though, this tiny movement sent armies of burning daggers into my skin, sharpened to a vicious point. As it neared the spot where it flamed the most, the dagger seemingly grew unbearably high in temperature.

For some reason, I felt as if I did not need to be woken from my semiconscious state—at least not urgently. No sense of danger whispered upon the back of my neck, no bells of alarm were triggered in my head. In truth, I found it to be not very intrusive at all; more as if it were somewhat comforting. But I was trapped in my mind, and blackness and pain rolled over me in thunderous waves. With this in mind, I knew not to trust my own judgment, so I kept my alert up.

The fingertips gently moved from my shoulder to my collarbone, and the frigid fire died down slightly. Their pads brushed deftly over my frozen skin, coming to rest supportively behind my neck. Something was too familiar about the way the hand's owner treated me like a delicate butterfly wing that decreased the anguish of the sharpened knives that seared every part of me. I almost relaxed a bit inside, but his next motion woke me with a small shake.

The hand left me completely for a moment, and left the darkness to take me once again. Though it returned in a small while, and timidly put a finger upon the heart of the fiery pain coming from below my shoulder. A lightning shock seemed to stab through my body, bringing a relentless amount agony. The flame leaped and rose drastically in temperature, and I was almost certain that is would bring the end, until the finger left my shoulder as soon as it entered.

It was that spark, though, that seemed to clear the void. The pain grew at an instant, as if the feeling before would be described as only a minor ache. I could sense solid ground beneath me; hard, unforgiving wood. The soiled dress pressed against my skin, my curls plastered against my face, skirts creating a pool around my legs. The sound of water dropping to the ground at constant intervals pulsed gently in the distance. In one of my hands, something penetrated the flesh. My other hand was held within the grasp of a familiar leather donned palm.

Groggily I made the effort of lifting my lids a centimeter to see where the #!*% I was. I wasn't surprised in the least to see the man who met my gaze. I held his stare, gazing into his dark chestnut orbs. Then suddenly I couldn't contain it any longer. I bent my neck upwards in an attempt to rise from his lap, but fell limp and fell back down as soon as I tried. Before my head snapped back too roughly, Sherlock's free hand somehow placed its self behind my upper neck. I bit my lip, trying to stop myself from crying out—or crying at all.

"Glad to see you're still in one piece." He spoke softly, voice cracked slightly from either the chill of his frozen clothes or not speaking for a while.

I tried to keep my face as straight as possible, holding back the tears that seemed to swell like the pulse within my ears. "I—I…" My voice cracked, and then faltered. I knew its shakiness gave away too much, _The detective is smart enough to realize that you're in a condition where tears are clearly acceptable—_

_**I will not show weakness!**_ I mentally retorted, knowing that things were truly coming to an end if I was talking to myself.

_Too late._

"Calm down Irene," He hushed me in a comforting tone; none that I had ever expected could come from a man who never seemed to show any sympathy or pity. He squeezed my trembling hand within his own before taking the other to wipe a strand of hair out of my face. "You were unconscious for who knows how long, out in the freezing rain. Your skin is freezing yet you seem to have a high fever. Stay calm and I assure you—"

"Stop it!" I hoarsely croaked, wishing for more power in my voice, not a ghost of sound. I found some strength deep within my core that allowed me to open my cracked lips once again, soon enough. "Do not treat me as some helpless babe who cannot care for herself. I am not a child, you idiot!" With a stupid and futile attempt, I tried to pull away from him.

Sherlock stared at me with an expression I could not classify, firmly holding onto my wrists. "Irene—"

"You cannot protect me from this storm! I got myself into this, and it only seems fair that I should get out of this myself!" My chest began to heave from the emotion that seemed to take the reins of my words. "Besides, you clearly know that if I was in my perfect state, you would be handcuffed by now, and at the will of my gun." I kept my chin raised and bit my lip as another roll of pain struck my shoulder.

The detective shifted his head slightly to the opposite wall before saying, "Well that seems to be the pattern, isn't it?" I tried to grin in triumph, as to make myself feel better, but it ended up appearing as a grimace of pain. It mattered not, though, since his gaze was fixed upon a door, which seemed to be chained shut. I tried to loosen up a bit.

"He has us, doesn't he?" The question was more of a statement.

Holmes looked down at me again, giving me his false, lopsided smile, "Depending on how you examine things: Yes, he does."

"Explain." I tried to sit up again, and was a bit more successful, though still hands gently lowered me down upon his lap.

"Not so fast, Ms. Adler. You are in no position to sit up, stand up, or move without assistance." This fact annoyed me more than anything; I had always been one to play games, as long as I was only on top. Though now, I had no choice if I wanted out, and right now, the top was certainly not where I was heading. I had given in my money, and I would have to play the cards, no matter if the hand was a winner, or a death ticket.

Sherlock's voice awakened me from my musing, "As I was saying, we were taken here by trained men. Not ones that I couldn't _dispose _of—"

"Whatever keeps your ego undamaged, Mr. Holmes…" I pounced back.

He promptly ignored my comment, "But they were much higher up than the common hired thug. There were five, all armed with two pistols, and only one of me. Since I found myself unable to keep both of us from harm, I put up minimal resistance. I was gagged, and only blindfolded after I witnessed them toss you (rather hard, might I add) into a quite expensive looking carriage. Then I was drugged. We were taken here, I presume, probably out in the country side upon the outskirts of London. I'm not too familiarized with the area, you see. The men kept talking about," He paused and switched into a slight cockney accent, "_the boss_. And the only person I knew would try to blow you up in the first place was the Professor. So no, he does not personally have us, but his men do."

I sighed, my voice still cracked and barely audible. Holding back from replying, I simply nodded.

Sherlock's hand moved to my shoulder once again, sending ripples of warmth and pain down my body. I risked a glance at the injury. At the sight of the dark blood stains around the area of my heart I believed I paled. The sticky substance was quite heavy if it could flow through my travelling gown, and continued to flow. "I'm going to die…"

"Wrong this time Irene." He corrected me gently, moving his hand to the hem of my dress. His eyes looked deep into mine for permission, which I granted with a bob of my head. With the carefulness he would apply to a clue in a case, he gently pulled back the sleeve of my gown. Instinctively I moved my hand to insure modesty. "The bullet missed just by a couple inches in fact, since you appear to still be breathing." He pointed to the grotesque wound, "I cannot see if the bullet damaged anything, besides, Watson happens to be much better at this stuff than I."

This didn't seem to reassure my chances of surviving though. "I'm going to die of this loss of blood, surely!"

The detective surveyed the injury once again for some time. After he found the answer, he snapped his fingers and sat up a bit straighter. "Remain calm, Ms. Adler, I am borrowing the edge of your petticoats, nothing more. Ah, the doctor always said to keep patients' heads elevated…"

He (with more energy and trouble than a normal person) removed his sopping jacket, and lifted my head off of his lap. Scooting away, he replaced his bundled up jacked under my head. He then proceeded to edge towards my feet to tear of the already torn fabric of my dress.

"Where's the doctor this time Holmes? I knew you were fretting quite a lot about his departure, but I did see him—"

"When you came to say goodbye, but then thought better of it." He finished for me. I wasn't too surprised that he had deducted that, but the tone of slight anger in his voice was what hit me. Holmes was surely not hurt that I didn't bother to say adieu. Though all the evidence was going against this.

A loud tear filled the cold space around us.

Thankfully, the man didn't want to hold on to the subject any longer. "As soon as I concluded that you were indeed headed for trouble, I departed—"

The loud steps of one wearing boots came from the other side of the bolted door. It was soon accompanied by three others. _No! _I cursed mentally, briskly shoving the remains of the shoulder of my dress back into place.

A long strip of black fabric was placed in my hands, which I held to my wound. Sherlock followed, pushing himself up, wringing his shirt's sleeve dry as he did so. He bent down, rushed, taking my wrist up as fast as he could without hurting me. With an elegant _swish _he brought out one of my daggers, and concealed it within his pocket.

"Unlock the door," someone ordered from outside.

I watched as Sherlock moved towards the door, quite calmly. With his back turned to me, I let my lower lip fall into a small pout. I felt worthless, vulnerable and worst: exposed. I wanted to spring forth with my gun in hand, and prove that I wasn't some damsel in distress. But no; I was trapped by my own doings.

I hardly had anytime to mope about the subject though. Before I could react, a figure sprung from the now opened door, tackling Sherlock to the ground.

"Get down you fool, Holmes!" A familiar voice said above the racket, muffled by the chaos and struggle of keeping the detective down.

Two gun shots followed.

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><p><strong>I'm sorry Irene's a bit OCC here, but you know, she's going through some tough stuff. Tell me what you think please! The cyber-buffette is stocked for reviewers! <strong>

**Again, I appologize, but my computer is spazzing out, and won't let me access the reviews for last chapter. So I can't post any responses sadly. But thank you to everyone, and hope to see you next chapter.**


	8. Chapter 8

**First of all, thank you to everyone who recently added my story to their alert/favorites lists! You truly made me a very happy person! Who else saw Sherlock Holmes 2? Please PM me about what you thought about it. I'm just so excited to see what everyone thought. I really liked it except for _someone's _death before the title even came up. If you know who I mean and share my thoughts, check out my new forum. Thank you!**

**Disclamier: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or any character, but if it comes with RDJ... jk **

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><p><strong>~Chapter 8~ Canes, Darkness and Wagon Rides<strong>

"You never truly love someone until it kills you to see them hurt." -Authorn Unknown

_**Adler**_

My sight growing fuzzy, I thought I could see two new holes imbedded into the moldy maroon colored walls. Lots of yelling filled my ears, some I could identify, for example Sherlock yelling at Watson for not bringing… something I couldn't catch, after he finally identified him as his friend. The man at the door with the pistol in hand was turned momentarily to warn the others we were armed and to come at once. Everything else seemed as if I was watching the scene through a tunnel and only parts of my senses were reliable. What parts were they? I had no clue.

After a short second Watson hauled himself off the ground. His hand dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled free a revolver and tossed it to a staggering Holmes. Then with a loud cry, he brandished his cane hiding a sword, raised it above his head as he ran forward, and made to bash it down upon the man with the pistol. To John's surprise, however, the man skillfully blocked the blow and caught the doctor's arm in the process. Watson looked in shock for a moment before being flipped on to the floor, shaking the whole structure. The cane slid in my direction bumping over the uneven floor.

I sighed in frustration knowing that if he reacted quicker he could've avoided getting thrown like a doll to the ground. I tried to sit up once again, the bloody stick of wood but a foot or so away. The pain from my shoulder held me down still, like a piece of flimsy paper under a stone. I tried not to curse the situation I was in, but I couldn't help but feel like the other helpless women in London.

Sherlock charged forwards to assist his colleague when our other captors appeared behind the door each holding guns with steady hands. Upon seeing this, the detective slowed down before slamming into their weapons. They motioned for him to drop the gun, and he did, cracking his neck at the same time. He was at gun point now, I was useless, and the doctor was on the ground.

I knew that he knew they wouldn't kill him. They'd probably kill Watson and me without so much as a care, but Moriarty's respect for Sherlock was what kept the two from clawing each other's necks.

"Nice to see the men under Moriarty's employment expanding, isn't it John?" Sherlock raised his hands to the level of his head, taking a swift glance at me. I could already see the clockwork turning in his head, "It seems I keep the Professor on his toes, seeing as how many of his men I…_dispose _of." He quickly jumped forwards and kicked the arm of the thug directly in front of him, sending him into the man next to him. It was all they needed to start fighting.

The man who had expertly dodged Watsons cane lifted his foot to deliver the Doctor a cracked rib at worse. I realized he did not see this coming, still groggy from hitting the ground.

"Watson!" I screamed, the room making a sharp turn to the right sending my stomach in a knot. I tried to grab the floor to steady myself, but something told me that we were stationary.

He looked at me for a moment, then to the quick approaching kick. He flung himself in the opposite direction, enough so that the majority of the force didn't hit him, only the aftermath. He flopped onto his stomach and grabbed the gun Sherlock had dropped. He fired four shots up at the man, the final hitting his hip, and sending him to the floor.

I was able to pick out footsteps from the corridor both Sherlock and Watson were fighting in front of. I made another effort to sit up, grunting in anguish at the burning from my shoulder. "They… There are…" The room wobbled like it was balanced upon a rod. "More coming!" my voice cracked as the scab that had formed on my lip opened.

"Thank you dear!" Sherlock yelled in response, stuck in a head lock. He twisted so to face me, trying to kick the thug to get him to release. "Help please…" He managed to get out, his face becoming red.

Someone from the corridor fired their gun, making my ears pound in my head. My stomach seemed to do a summersault once again as the borders of my sight grew heavily blurry. With much effort I spotted the African cane on the ground, and fell to my side. With my good arm, I reached for the end praying to feel the polished wood in my grasp. Finally, like a reassurance, I felt it and pulled it towards my body. I managed to lie on my back again with my elbow supporting me. Aiming for the man holding Holmes, I flung the rod with all the remainder of my strength.

I fell back on to the painful floor, my head thankfully landing on Sherlock's sopping jacket. I briefly could hear the thud the cane made as it hit the man, and then the thud of his body as it fell to the ground. Then I thought I heard Sherlock thank me, but I had given up trying.

The darkness was closing in, coming to finally devour me. Around me things passed in a whirl that made no sense. It was all a terrifying game that I was trapped in and I could never escape. When I closed my eyes it still plagued me. When I ran away like a coward it refused to leave me in misery. It was determined to crush me beneath its feet and finally show me that I had made a horrible mistake. And then, lying bloody and beaten, something broke.

I tried to open my mouth in the chaos, but found that no words came forth. The world tilted in all directions now, spinning at an increasing speed.

How I wanted to call his name, for him to come and hold me. He seemed too far away somehow, as if he was placed upon a higher shelf I could never hope to reach. If he would only hold my hand, tell me how he deduced my location, tell me everything would be alright—_Shut up!_ I screamed internally, but I no longer listened. Letting go was so much easier than wearing a mask of emotion.

The gunshots stopped, the shouting ceased, the footsteps were reduced to two pairs. I made a half-hearted attempt to see what the cause was, though all I could see was the ceiling; painted a dull grey, with several boards broken letting drops of rain through. Two familiar faces looked down on me, but they were unrecognizable due to the blurred edges of my vision. Their rushed voices echoed in hush of concern, drowned out by the _plunk _of rain drops falling onto the floor. Something told me it was alright to give in, so tired of the pulsing fire that ate my flesh, I allowed myself to give in.

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><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

I set Irene down upon the wagon John borrowed, quickly removing my glove to check her pulse. As I put my hand to her neck, I noted that her skin was ice cold and coated in sweat. A faint _thump, thump_ assured me that she was still alive. My hand moved towards her jaw, to hold her ice cold face. I quietly kissed her slightly parted lips.

"Hurry up!" John shouted from the front, sitting upon the bench in the front, reins in hand, shaking me from my thoughts. "The longer we take, the more time Moriarty has to catch up, and more of a chance she'll not even make it to London. Make sure she doesn't get a worse case of hypothermia, but do it quickly!"

I held my tongue, since I knew this was true, and I was quite too frozen to make an argument which was quite odd. I took the woolen blanket shoved into the side and tucked it around the woman's shivering body, holding her safe within my eyes. I squeezed her inanimate hand hoping she realized in the back of her consciousness I was near.

"Hold on, Irene. Pull out this last journey, and I promise you won't be alone against him anymore," I whispered, gently letting go and closing the back of the cart.

Latching it shut, I joined Watson at the front and climbed in next to him. He shook the horses reigns, shouted a loud _yah! _and the beasts quickly began their trot on the flooded path.I, not one for traveling, pulled a blanket from under the bench and wrapped it around myself, burying my head in the warmth that came over my body.

I mentally prepared myself for the ridicule that was about to come, ready to mute the doctor's voice. I wondered if he would demand why on earth I would make such a rash and idiotic decision. Or why I would leave such an uninformative note behind, or why I ruined his night with Mary once _again. _Maybe he would angrily ask why I stole his scarf or made a mess of our—my flat.

But to my surprise, he stayed silent.

After making sure he didn't seem to want to say anything, I risked a glance over at John. Perhaps he was so frustrated he didn't wish to even speak to me, though I highly doubted this. His face was not pulled into a tense grimace, which normally signified his annoyance at me. No, his sight was fixed on the road, but after several moments a small grin came over him as he shook his head.

"I don't see what's so amusing," I said quietly, just over the sound of splashing mud. I loosened the woolen blanket from around my shoulders.

Watson's grin disappeared as he came to look at me, "The greatest detective in all of Europe, dedicated to his work, never goes to parties or special occasions unless forced, no friends… I never thought I'd see you ever fancy a woman, much less love one." Unable to think of a proper response, I looked at the lamp hung on my side of the bench as the flame flickered from the rough terrain. "Yes, she beat you twice and will probably beat you ten more times, but you don't just respect her like I assumed, you _love _her."

"You, a married man, say love as a bad thing," I pointed out.

"That's the thing," He continued, "I can't decide if it is a bad thing. The police are after her, Moriarty is after her—"

"The professor is out for all of us." I added quietly.

"I'll give her medical care and make sure she's strong enough before I leave with Mary, but you're going to have to make sure they don't find her, and most of all you. Moriarty is going to use her to unravel you, Holmes, if this isn't all an act in the first place. Are you listening?"

As he nudged me rather hard, with his elbow I looked up again, "Yes, doctor, every word… She'll live, right?" That was all I needed to know. I would fight the consequences when I was forced to, but right now that was the only thing I needed to be assured of.

"You're missing the point Holmes." He nearly shouted in frustration, but I could tell he didn't want to frighten the horses. "Do you realize all the… the tumult that will come with simply bringing her in? Moriarty will learn that Adler's at Baker Street and all madness will break out. He must already know that she has feelings for you, but if…"

My teeth chattered slightly from the cold, "Understood."

A long moment drew out before Watson continued. "She already has a strong case of hypothermia, and I don't like the look of how much blood she's lost. I will have to extract the bullet from her shoulder surgically and perhaps some of the shards of glass and splinters of wood. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll do my best."

I nodded slightly. _A little chance, but a chance none the less._

Suddenly John sat up, his expression quite changed. "And don't think that I haven't forgotten about your poorly written note, or the evening I missed with my wife, or perhaps the fact that you left Gladstone in the flat alone? Sometimes I wonder why I even…"

I covered my ears with the fabric, tuning out his voice, and watching the flooded country side go by.

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><p><strong>Hope you guys enjoyed some more Watson in the story. Please R&amp;R! It gives me encouragement to write quicker. Constructive critism is always welcomed! And happy holidays!<strong>

**New Lights: Hey BFF! Sherlock kissed Irene in this chapter, so do I get my points? I know she wasn't concious, but hey. Thank you so much for the review! It was so much fun to see SH2 with you! See you soon!**

**SayuriTsukiko: Thank you for reassuring me. I totally agree with you, we are all but human. Again, thank you for your wonderful compliments and your great reviews every chapter. Hope to hear from you soon! Thanks!**

**aniamionearnshaw: Hope this update was fast enough. Thanks for the review, and don't worry, we still have a while to go in this fic : )**

**P-Jiggity: Thank you so much for adding me to your favorites list! It made me so happy! Your praise was very high; being compared to such an amazing movie ; ) Yeah, I was disapointed in lack of Irene/Sherlock-ness in SH2 but it was cool all the same. Hope to hear from you again!**

**wittypenname: Thank you for the review! Don't worry, I'll write more! **


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm so sorry for my late post. My computer was spazzing out- again. Urghhhh... *smacks computer* Because this annoying contraption began to go insane, I am unable to post personal responses to each of your lovely comments. : ( **

**Anyways, thank you for waiting. And thank you SO MUCH for all the reviews and alert/favorite list add ons. **

**Disclaimer: **** don't own Sherlock Holmes, or Phantom of the Opera (the musical that brought us this quote below)**

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><p><em>No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you.<br>Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears- I'm here, with you, beside you... To guard you and to guide you..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 9~Recovery, Notes, and Shadows at the Window<strong>

_**Adler**_

As I came back to my senses, I was showered with the smell of tobacco, cocaine, blood, and steaming tea with a nice amount of honey. It was those things that kept me from going mad with panic. For without looking, I could sense I was only in my shift and corset, my shoulder still throbbed with pain, I seemed to be incredibly cold and the scent of my own blood was hardly a comforting fact. Someone's stare was upon me, and it seemed to refuse from leaving.

I sniffled slightly, nestling my head to my less painful shoulder. I hid my face slightly, under the blanket.

"Ah, she's awake now."

I didn't need to open my eyes to immediately know it was Sherlock. His voice was slightly gravely from not using it lately or perhaps a cold. A warm hand reached for my own, gently covering it as if shielding me.

Perhaps he noted my lack of movement or sound, "If you're worried about anyone hearing us, I assure you Mrs. Hudson has been dismissed on break for… a while. Of course the doctor and his fiancé are off enjoying their wonderful time together. It's just us—if you wish for proof of that, I can go double lock the doors and windows." His tone was not joking in the least; instead, it was its normal steady sound. He meant it.

My eyelids fluttered open, revealing the mess that was the detective's room. I was laid upon a sofa, feet propped up by several mismatching pillows, head supported by the arm rest. A table was placed near me, housing metal medical tools, a syringe, bag and a needle. A cup of warm tea was placed nearest. Holmes was sitting at the edge of an arm chair, pushed next to me. His dark brown orbs stared back at me; the curtains veiling all the mechanics within his head.

"I-I have far more pressing things to worry about," I whispered, finding no strength in my voice. My lower lip was quivering, so I bit down on it to keep it still.

Sherlock reached over to the table and opened the bag, spilling its contents. All were covered in my own blood. "Yes, worrying... Did you know you had sixteen bits and pieces of wood splinters and glass shards in your skin? Not counting the bullet in your shoulder we—well Watson removed it surgically and patched you up. You have hypothermia for sure, and a fever."

"That explains why my mind is so… slow," I remarked quietly, taking a quick glance at my heavily bandaged shoulder. When I brought my head up, I noticed a fine bruise along the man's nose. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

He shook his head, completely dismissing the question, "Nothing more than the usual. I caught a cold, that's the worst of it. You, my dear, are a different story." He squeezed my hand in reassurance, and pushed himself up and out of the armchair. He disappeared behind my vision, though I could hear him rummaging through piles of paper and other various things. I waited patiently, until he returned back holding a tray of food. "You haven't eaten in two days. Watson said food would warm you up, though mind you, it's not as good as the dainties you bring back."

He sat down on the arm chair once again, and I immediately reached for a pastry. The effort was more work than it should require, and it felt as if my arm wasn't under my control. Sherlock pulled the tray out of reach upon seeing this, "Not just yet, Irene."

I sighed in frustration, feeling like a child. _If only I was just a bit stronger, and didn't require Sherlock…_ I thought. Though he appeared to mean well, he mocked me by assisting me in each little thing. I was supposed to be taunting him, not bound by wounds and illness to a sofa. I was not meant to be caged, and I supposed he knew that too.

Sherlock promptly continued to set the tray down and then kneel next to the sofa. The detective held his arms outstretched, looking into my eyes. I nodded slightly. With one hand on my back and the other on my waist, he supported me enough to sit up.

"I'm not going to let you do this," I protested, gently brushing his hands off. "If you allow me in, it's just another weapon Moriarty has against you. He knows I'm here and I know he's not going to let me get away that easily. He will come, Sherlock. He'll come and kill us both."

As he slid his hands back on to his lap, his chestnut eyes searched my own, "It's not as if he wasn't after me or you in the first place. No matter how you appreciate your situation, you aren't in a stable condition, or so Watson said. You can't stand much less run now, especially without assistance. Scotland Yard would find you terribly easily if you went to public hospitalization and I'm sure they would be much more careful this time. Moriarty could easily find you there as well."

I struck out my chin slightly, reaching for the cup of tea. My quivering hand stilled after closing around the warm china, but the weight of it continued to make it shake as I brought it off the tray. "What do you propose, then?"

Sherlock's hand rose quickly as the tea cup to a veer towards the side, taking hold of my wrist right before its contents spilt. In unison, he steadied my hand as it rose to my chapped lips. "I suppose," He said, "We could go through with you previous endeavors."

My arm halted as I raised an eyebrow.

"We aren't safe in London and—well the majority of Europe actually, now that I think about it. Say we steal away, wait until you fully recover, and then make our sudden reappearance to catch him by surprise and strike."

I let the warm steam soak into my freezing skin, the smell of honey blocking the rest. After several seconds, Sherlock maneuvered my hand to push the tea towards my lips. I allowed the liquid down my throat, though his sudden gesture of impatience caught me by surprise. His mouth curled into a small smirk at the sight of tea running down my chin.

"You're suggesting we run away?" I asked.

He placed the cup down with a soft clink. He slipped a clear liquid into the other teacup and lifted it to eye level, "Going into hiding sounds a bit better, I believe. You are free to call it whatever suits your fancy however. Moriarty's men will be after us, it will be safer this way."

I nodded, "How am I to travel like this?"

"We won't leave until tomorrow night, and I imagine that you'll make a… well I hope you make a quick recovery." He drank, and then set the cup down.

"I can tell you haven't made arrangements, so I won't bother asking where we are going." I settled down into the corner of the coach. "What of the Doctor?"

Sherlock pulled out a handkerchief, eyebrows knotting together, "Well, I haven't quite thought of that yet… I'll have to think on it."

I reached over, trying hard not to strain my weak muscles. My hand quickly snatched the piece of cloth from him, though I was quite slow enough and weak enough for him to pull it away or just not let go. Using the center, I mopped my face. I was about to toss it back at him when my eyes landed on the corner. It was embroidered with my initials.

"It's yours." He said quietly.

A moment of silence passed. The piece of cloth was lowered down in to my lap, a small, smirk forming upon my expression. "You were worried about me, weren't you?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, leaning back into his arm chair. I could tell he was making sure his expression was even. "Well when you find someone upon the verge of death, and then assist in removing bullets from their shoulders, one may call it quite natural. Next time, dear, I'm not going to sally forth to your rescue."

I nodded, mouth falling into a grin. "I'll remember that."

"Good. You caused quite the trouble— once again, might I add," He turned his back to me, reaching over the armchair to a table behind. He knocked several books to the carpet before returning to sitting, violin in hand. With a flourish, he flipped his bow to point several inches from my face, "Now perhaps you can make all this worth something. I take it that you have converted sides now? Then perhaps you won't mind telling me what exactly where you up to before all this began."

My eyes shifted away from his gaze, though he brought the bow to push my face back to his direction. I searched for an easy escape from this question, my mind wandering back to the note and whose hands it was in now. I finally landed on the question that truly puzzled me, and decided on asking it instead of answering, "Why do you trust me?"

He pulled back the bow, studying my face for a moment. He then turned his attention back to the instrument, playing a short set of notes before looking at me once again. "Perhaps because your fear of Moriarty has seemed to be far too great to show you're still working for him... It could be because I doubt you'll return to him, or that he'll have you work for him once again. Maybe I simply wish I can put that much faith in you."

When I found that the last words stung, I decided on not replying.

"But, you forgot," Sherlock leaned forwards again. "I asked the question first, and I would appreciate an answer."

"I was delivering this and that, whatever he needed me to," I answered as nonchalantly as I could.

"You're hiding it Irene."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No. I could've predicted that much." His hand dove into the pocket upon his waist coat, a lopsided smirk appearing on his face. He held up a folded piece of parchment, one of which struck me with a sense of alarm. He twirled it within his fingers, "Now, if I were to read this—which I assure you I haven't—then would it say the same thing? Seems as if it's from the Professor himself… "

I held my straight face best I could, "If you don't mind, I'd appreciate if you would hand it back to me."

"You've converted—"

"I am allowed to my privacy still." I reached for the note.

He pulled it away, "There should be nothing that you have any need to hide."

"You're not playing fair!"

"It depends on your definition of playing fair. Who said you ever played fair?"

"Who said you—" I was halted by a sudden knock from downstairs.

Sherlock looked to the door that lead down the corridor and then down the stairs. I took advantage of the situation and whisked the letter away from his grasp. With parchment within my hand, he grabbed my wrist. This surprised me, since he didn't go for reclaiming the note.

I looked towards his expression. He was suddenly very still and looking somewhat worried, his head turned to look behind. I strained my neck in his vision's direction. There was a flat parallel to the one we were located at, its windows level, though separated by an alleyway. A man, face covered by shadow, stood at the adjacent window. In his hand: a familiar gun. The way the light hit the flat illuminated crooked teeth fixed in an amused way.

My heart leapt a beat, registering the sight. I took a moment to blink and make sure I wasn't imagining it, but when I looked back, The Professor was gone.

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><p><strong>Hehehe... I was looking over the story and I realized that what it really needed was some good suspense. Or at least more of it. What do you think's going to happen next? What do you want to happen next? Like the chapter? : )<strong>

**And does anyone else think that it's ironic how Irene gets shot in the shoulder and Sherlock with the factory scene... (if you saw the second film you know what I mean) Weird, huh?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi again. I made a drawing of Irene and Sherlock on deviantart if anyone's interested. Here's the link: /#/d4l73og**

** Anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes (2009 version) or Billie Joel's song, She's Always A Woman (search it if you haven't heard it. It's really beautiful and totally works with these two.**

**Warnings: I'm getting rid of this warning stuff.**

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><p><em>...She can lead you to love<em>  
><em> She can take you or leave you<em>  
><em> She can ask for the truth<em>  
><em> But she'll never believe you<em>  
><em> And she'll take what you give her, as long as it's free<em>  
><em> Yeah, she steals like a thief<em>  
><em> But she's always a woman to me<em>

_Oh-she takes care of herself_  
><em> She can wait if she wants<em>  
><em> She's ahead of her time<em>  
><em> Oh-and she never gives out<em>  
><em> And she never gives in<em>  
><em> She just changes her mind<em>

_ And she'll promise you more_  
><em> Than the Garden of Eden<em>  
><em> Then she'll carelessly cut you<em>  
><em> And laugh while you're bleedin'<em>  
><em> But she'll bring out the best<em>  
><em> And the worst you can be<em>  
><em> Blame it all on yourself<em>  
><em> Cause she's always a woman to me<em>

_She is frequently kind_  
><em> And she's suddenly cruel<em>  
><em> She can do as she pleases<em>  
><em> She's nobody's fool<em>  
><em> And she can't be convicted<em>  
><em> She's earned her degree<em>  
><em> And the most she will do<em>  
><em> Is throw shadows at you<em>  
><em> But she's always a woman to me<em>

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><p><strong>~Chapter 10~ Waiting, Police, and Shadows in the Dark<br>**

_**Holmes**_

_Knock, knock, knock…_ It surely was Lestrade, either that or the pattern of the visitors raps upon the door from downstairs were identical. I had no doubt that it wasn't the inspector, though, from his impeccable timing in his appearance.

I turned back to face the woman, who's icy blue eyes were widened in terror. However, she did a mediocre job of trying to hide it, meaning she must've truly been scared. I tried to hold myself back from noting this, for it was quite rare for me to hold the better card. Or perhaps we were always upon the same level, though she played her hand in a way that made her seem as if she was on top.

I moved my hands from firmly holding her wrists to bringing her hands together, "Dear, let's not jump to dramatic conclusions without any proof."

She pulled her hands away, though her left hand lagged noticeably. In the drop of a hat her face was composed and stern, "I'm not waiting here to _recover_, especially for him to come and kill me." _She's back to herself now, finally. _"I need to borrow some clothing."

"Feel free to leave me, I wouldn't be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find you gone anyhow. Though might I ask you, where would you go?" Irene promptly ignored my comment and made to swing her legs off the bed, but I slid farther down the sofa to block her. I caught her chin with my hand and tilted her head to look at me. "And why do you feel so entitled to my belongings?"

Rolling her eyes, she took her better arm, grabbed my wrist, and turned it into a rather painful position. I was slightly surprised, for only a moment she was having trouble to perform a task as drinking tea. I only was _slightly_; not entirely.

"Then why do you think you're entitled to help me?"

"Your pride is your undoing, Ms. Adler," Her grip faltered slightly for a second and I took advantage of it. I drew my hand away only to thrust it back towards hers, pinning it to the cushion.

"Perhaps; though don't believe that you yourself aren't immune to such things…" She gave a sarcastic grin, though her eyes kindled with raw determination, flashed back. I held her gaze steadily. "I'm only going to close the window shade, darling. Now if you don't mind…"

_Ha, 'darling' she calls you, _I thought, begrudgingly standing up. "Of course, yes…hmm… If you need any assistance, I'll be answering the door to Scotland Yard."

By this point she had scooted her legs over the side of the sofa, bare feet dangling just above my own shoes. The blanket she was wrapped in had now slipped from her shoulder revealing her tea-stained chemise and heavily wrapped shoulder. She looked up at me with a devilish look in her eyes, as if she knew what I was thinking.

I leant down and kissed her cheek swiftly, moving towards the door. "I wouldn't report you of course, my dear." As I strode away, I could feel her stare upon my back. Though, I continued as if she wasn't there. Stealthily, I slipping a revolver from a table into my pocket at the door with her note firmly enclosed back in my hand. My inwards smirk soon faded.

"What happened to playing on a team, Sherlock? I'm not the fool you wish I was. You're going to follow the man _without_ me. How nice of you. And to leave a lady in such an unstable medical condition with no supervision!"

Her voice made me slow down, but I continued to move my hand to the brass knob.

She continued with her innocent voice, though I could hear the soft sound of her feet touching down upon the rug, "You do realize I'll follow you? Besides, if it is the professor, well this will be quite the idiotic quest." I could picture her red lips falling into a pretend pout.

I turned my head over my shoulder, "Well I would say trying to follow me would be quite stupid as well."

I was interrupted by a crashing sound; the tea tray tipping over with the breaking of china. Irene cursed rather harshly, though once I turned to look in her direction, she was standing. The woman was barely on her feet however, clutching the arm rest for support. Tea, jam and other assortments of the things that once resided upon the tray now stained her black shift, corset, and my blankets. She opened a drawer on the side table next to the sofa and drew forth a gun, one of which I must've misplaced.

"All you need do is ask—"

Her expression quite serious now, she held the barrel in my direction with her dainty fingers upon the trigger. "Open the door and I'll shoot."

"Highly unlikely," I commented quietly, though she probably wouldn't hit me. The only thing I knew for certain was that she wouldn't kill me.

I opened the door with a smug grin. She sighed in frustration and allowed her finger to pull the piece of metal back. A single shot rang out through the room causing her to stumble backwards. I dogged with little difficulty for the shot hit the open door several inches from my side. Her brows furrowed as she tried to pull the trigger again. Unfortunately for her, there were no more bullets. She threw down the gun onto the sofa and took several staggering steps in my direction. Soon her muscles grew accustomed, and she was running at me with her normal speed.

With no hesitation I shut the door behind me, and quickly flew down the stairs with Irene's heavy footsteps pounding in pursuit. "You abhorrent b-"

Irene froze at the top of the banister, me almost at the door. Lestrade had broken an entry, once again.

He first gawked at Irene, as did the several others who he had brought with him. One or two blushed and looked away, feeling bad for catching her in such an unpresentable state. I couldn't see her reaction to this, for she was one floor above me. Though I doubted she minded this having… how many husbands was it now?

"If you pardon me gentlemen," She said with her allusive sweet voice, probably smiling and batting her eyelashes. "I have some business to attend to. Good day!" Her footsteps were much less heavy, renewed with their grace and caution. My door opening and closing signaled her departure.

"Holmes…" The inspector looked as if he didn't know what emotion to portray.

I straightened out my collar stepping forwards, "I assure you, she's a—she's a patient of the Doctor's. The hospital was full and he couldn't use his own home… yes, because of his fiancé, of course."

Lestrade seemed taken aback in slight alarm, "I couldn't imagine Watson would ever do such a thing!"

_He thinks…_ I realized how he computed my words, and immediately tried to fix them without laughing. "No, no not like that Inspector, not at all. Come, come! I thought your skills of deduction were better than that. You saw the heavy bandage around the woman's shoulder, did you not? It was a gruesome surgical procedure, nothing the future Mrs. Watson would want to witness, especially in her own home."

He did his best to nod, hardly convinced.

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><p>As soon as the front door shut, the sound of heeled boots clicking down the stairs neared.<p>

"Nice cover," Irene smirked, coming up from behind with her arms crossed. "I thought you were one for improvisation, but now I see that you can't draw up words at the drop of a hat."

"Only in certain circumstances," I said, surveying her new outfit. "You had to borrow the new one, didn't you?"

Her grin widened into a small smile as she tucked a brown lock behind her ear. The woman now donned the dress shirt I was forced to buy for Watson's planned wedding complete with an emerald waist coat, trousers, and her own muddied boots. Her left sleeve was somewhat bulkier from the bandage, and she wore no make up to conceal her cuts and bruises. In the small amount of time I had left her to shoe out the police, she had removed most of the debris entangled within her hair and pulled it back. To say I didn't admire her beauty would be a lie.

She walked to the small rectangular window besides the door, doing her best to hide a wobble. It was obvious she was in much more pain than she allowed herself to show. "What did they want?" She questioned, drawing the curtain aside and peering out.

"To tell Mary that her husband was unfaithful," I sniggered silently for a small second, "Other than that, they were here because of some robbery or another. I told them I was busy with another case and would be taking a holiday for a little while."

She turned around, her smirk gone, "And they didn't question this?"

"I'd further embarrass the man, so he avoided questioning of any sort," I went to the closet, pulling free my hat, and two jackets both loaded with revolvers from previous ventures. The woman nodded.

"So we'll just walk inside and simply hope to survive?" She questioned, taking the coat from me and slipping her arms inside. I gently lifted her curls from the collar of the frock. They smelled of jasmine and smoke.

I checked the number of bullets in my revolver's chamber before putting on my bowler hat. "Catching the man would be better, but generally… yes."

I didn't want her to come, selfish as the reasons were. How could she possibly continue to push the envelope? She was near dead only three nights ago and was continuing to risk her life once again. Keeping her restrained inside was an idea that had occurred to me on more than one occasion, but I knew she would find a way to escape in the end. She could obviously take care of herself, shoulder wounded or not. Perhaps I was worried about my own ability of keeping her from harm. But then again, why would I need to? Why would I want to protect such an insufferable woman? Why did I allow her to make my mind get into this state?

Irene opened the door. We left in silence, crossing the alleyway briskly. The cold was enough to persuade us onwards, and it also worked to prevent others from walking outside. The streets were lonely and gloomy as usual. Whoever it was waiting for us, was there for a reason, for no one would decide to take refuge in an older uninhabited flat on such a day. (The neighbors or so Watson had said, left because of my own work)

Once upon the steps, Irene picked the lock quickly. She looked at me with hesitant eyes, the winter chill causing her them to moisten. I stepped in front of her and kicked the door open with a small amount of force.

From all I could see, the small house was almost completely dark. There was no furniture in the little space that was visible, for it was all taken away by the couple that once inhabited the building. The open door revealed a piece of wall before us. It wore a tan wall paper with what appeared to be blue vines—a woman's touch. It seemed like such a normal building, which was what made me even wearier of whomever or whatever awaited us.

"Be ready to shoot at a moment's notice," I muttered, slowly stepping in to the darkened entrance hallway. She followed with revolver drawn.

As our feet made the wooden floor beneath carpet groan, I peered into the darkness to try to make out which direction to go, where to find a clue. I held my hand over my eyes for a moment, letting them adjust to the pitch black before opening them again. This time when I looked down the carpet seemed to have a design of some sort. Though soon I realized it lead off the mat and onto the normal floor.

Irene squatted down and put a finger upon the substance. I knew exactly what it was, however. "Blood."

A howling wind tore by through the streets, slamming the door shut.

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><p><strong>Again, trying to add more suspense. What did you think? What do you want to see happen next? Food for thought; reviews motivate me to write quicker *wink, wink*.<strong>

**On to the thank-you's:**

**aniamionearnshaw: Thank you! Great idea with the injury thing. I think I may use that, no guarantees. I can promise you it's not Moriarty's twin, haha. You'll just have to keep reading to see who it is... yes, I'm know I'm mean ; )  
><strong>

**Your Favorite Oxymoron: Glad you enjoyed it. While this chapter and perhaps the next chapter won't have much down time, there will be more to come, don't worry! Hope you enjoyed!**

**liebedero: Thank you for reviewing. I haven't revealed the contents of the letter yet, so you have to wait and see. : )**

**Colorblind City: Hello again! It's been wonderful PM-ing you! I'm so glad your enjoying this fic. We discussed the phantom quote, but do you like this Billy Joel one? Hehe, yes, Irene/Sherlock all the way! Again, thank you!**

**new lights: Thanks for the review! Yeah, you should make me a list every chapter. Sorry I didn't have them kiss, but don't worry. It'll be worth the wait! Had a great time at the party bff!**

**Miss Savvy: Your compliments are very appreciated, thank you. I'm so glad you like my writing. I was worried writing from 2 people's POVs would be confusing, but it seems to have worked out pretty well. Hope to hear more from you! : )**

**Zenappa: Ironic isn't it? Weird... Thank you for reviewing! I totally agree, Irenlock forever! **

**Irene Holmes: Cool pen name : ) I can't make any promises... hehe... jk. Thanks for reviewing!**


	11. Chapter 11

**~Chapter 11~ A Deserted Flat, Metal, Glass, and Messages**

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><p><em><strong>Adler<strong>_

My first impulse sent me to turn back to the door, (though my surroundings were pitch-black, I knew where it should be) the sound of gunshots and images from the rainy night several days ago replaying in my mind. As soon as my hands grasped the ice cold door knob, I knew it was locked. Still, I tried to turn it open with no avail.

"It locked," I informed Sherlock, my left hand reaching for a bobby-pin.

The floor creaked with the weight of his light footsteps, nearing me slowly. "Didn't you hear the slight 'tick' as the door slammed?" He asked, his warm breath revealing that he was standing right behind me.

"Wasn't listening for it," I found a proper bobby pin and jabbed what I assumed to be his arm. "I thought that you would be able to smell the blood. Hmm, no matter."

His hand felt my forehead before enclosing my own, holding the door handle. He spoke softly, "I ensure you madam that we have no need to leave at this very moment. What we really are in requirement of is a match, which I have in my pocket. Unless, of course, you are feeling frightened or can't continue on with that fever…"

_Idiot_. I snarled in return, shaking off his hand. The bobby pin fell to the carpet, and I let my hand fall from the ice cold handle. Instead, it dove into the left pocket of the detective and pulled out the box of matches. If he was able to see in the dark, he would notice my witty smirk.

Sherlock took the match box from my hand, exhaling slightly, "Yes, pardon me. How rude it was to ask such a question miss…"

In less than a small second a wisp of a flame lit his face, casting shadows upon his features. Seeing him was a small comfort, (one I would never admit) for now I had another on my side. It was always me against the Bohemian Prince, Scotland Yard and what felt like the world. I was happy that way, never bored with adrenalin always urging me along. With only myself to depend on, I was the only person to blame when things went wrong. Now at least I had someone else of whom to bear the weight. It was surely to be a momentary position, but for some reason, I prayed it would last for a while.

I managed to find an old lamp on a table near the door, and soon more shadows rested upon the walls and crevices. Enough light to work in.

"The blood trails to the closet under the stairs," I noted, squatting down to look at the crimson stain. "He killed someone as soon as they entered the flat and moved then there."

_See, it's so easy. Just like killing you…_

The detective stared at it from above, eyed fixed upon the dried splatters. "They were killed two hours earlier, judging by the coloration. The question is, why hasn't Moriarty—whoever is here, delivered us the same fate? They knew we would come if they appeared at the window, so they must still be here."

It was too interfering to think in such a manner, so I quickly tried to switch the path in which my thoughts were heading. I murmured quietly, "Do you think he still has his wallet?" There were hardly the messages traveling through my head, though, all of my belongings had been blown up.

"Do you have no shame, Irene? ...Or respect for the dead?" He perhaps knew as well, but didn't mention it.

A sudden creak of floor boards above was the one signal that finalized our beliefs.

I took off first, swift and silent, making sure to pull the revolver from my pocket. Sherlock followed equally as quick, his stride somewhat louder than mine. It hardly mattered, however, for whoever was upstairs probably heard us. It was quite possible that they were prepared, so I kept my alert up. It was an old habit after being in so many similar situations.

After reaching the top, the detective pushed me towards the left. I was met with a plain door; white with rectangles carved out of it in common design. It tilted slightly for a moment, my pulse pumping through my ears. _Continue on, it's a passing thing. Exercise shall help you recover, but contain yourself from anything strenuous. _I reassured myself, as Sherlock joined me.

Of course I wouldn't let him have all the fun, now would I? With a doe-eyed school girl expression, I handed him the lamp, freeing one hand. He let out a small sigh, and I tilted my head. Then with slight hesitation, I kicked the door open.

The room was fairly large, and barren. There was no light, save for what was let in by the window facing 221B. The walls were a musty tan, also with nothing on them but paint.

I felt my shoulders loosen up. It wasn't Moriarty at all.

A man stood halfway towards the window, bowler hat covering dirty blonde curls. His dark brown eyes, reflecting the light of the lamp, angrily stared back at us. The man was dressed nicely, making it obvious he wasn't a common thug. Even though we were over four yards away from him, it was obvious to see he was shaking. In his left hand was a metallic appearing box, his right holding a glass vial. He quickly dropped the metal contraption and dug his hand in his jacket's pockets.

"Pardon me good sir," Sherlock's voice was strong, slicing the tension in the air. He passed me, putting the lamp back into my arms to my annoyance. He stood now before the man, his back to me, making sure his revolver was in easy sight. "Could you please explain to us why on earth you are in this building, who you are, and if you happen to be employed by a certain Professor Moriarty."

I put down the lamp on the scratched, wooden floor, drawing my own weapon and walking towards the man.

"I'm—I'm afraid I can't do that for you, Mr. Holmes." He replied shakily; hand still in pocket but obviously closing around a gun's grip. His eyes darted towards the window, and then to me. "You see, I—I'm here to deliver a message."

He pulled the gun from his pocket, mine and Sherlock's still at our sides. His eyes nervously flickered once again, though this time to the door and the window.

"Save yourself the trouble, sir," I warned, "We're armed as well, if we haven't made it obvious enough; it's two against one."

The man refused to make eye contact, stumbling back to get a better look at the window. His face turned red, and beads of sweat began to become apparent. "Oh, Ms. Adler— yes, I know your face—it is not as it seems. The match is not one to two. No, you make your mistake there. It is much more than one; I am simply a messenger, one of hundreds… Now I must shoot."

He closed his eyes and swallowed, then continued glaring at Sherlock, me and back to the window.

"That's _your _mistake. You won't shoot." I sprinted forwards. The man pulled the trigger, but I swung my arms upwards, causing the bullet to misfire and strike the ceiling. In the same move, I was able to knock the gun to the floor.

"Now, let's start at the beginning, shall we?" Sherlock ran behind me, pressing his revolver to the man's temple, "What's your—"

The man grunted and delivered a side-kick to the detective. He landed on the wood with a skid, allowing the man to pull the stopper from the glass vial. _He's going to kill himself! _I went to grab his arm, but he ducked out of the way, punching me in the gut. I felt the air leave my lungs and stumbled back. Determination pushed me on and prepared me to shoot, but decided to continue to grab what I assumed to be poison. I made another futile attempt to tackle the man, even as the world became slightly unfocused.

_Thunk._ Suddenly something small hit the window.

The man froze and stood up completely straight, his head jerking to side like a frightened jack-rabbit.

"Irene!" Sherlock pointed out the distraction, lunging for the man's leg.

I was able to grab his shoulders with a jump. He yelled as I yanked his arm, eventually twisting it back with a sickening crack. Red blots began to appear around the shoulder of his jacket. As I dislocated his arm his hand spazzed, just as I planned, sending the vial down and shattering it.

He shook me off, but I managed to remain standing. Sherlock was going about the business of standing up.

The man let out a loud cry, finally his nerves registering the pain. He cradled his arm with his free hand, turning back to the window. "No! No, no, no!" Then he spun to us in absolute panic, pointing a trembling finger, "He'll kill them now! Look what you've done!"

Now, standing, Sherlock slowly moved towards the hysterical man, "Sir, I need you to please stay calm. Tell us what—"

A gun shot sounded, followed by a soft _thud_. The dirty blonde man now laid face first on the dusty floor, bullet embedded in the back of his head.

I ran to the window, now punctured with a small round hole. At first I gazed at the window parallel, revealing part of Sherlock's room the curtain covering the other half. Then my sight went to the empty alleyway between the two flats. Distance made it quite hard to see, but there were traces of footsteps on the concrete, for whoever walked upon the surface had gotten their shoes wet from the puddles. The footsteps stopped just below the window, turning back to the main walkway. Leading to a man covered by the crowd, only revealing a familiar black top hat and a shadowed face. I paled slightly as his hand rose from the ocean of people's heads, waving. The gun hidden in his sleeve was all too blunt.

"The poison is made from a very strong form of arsenic; it dissolved into the floor too quickly for me to get a sample of it. Moriarty sent him to deliver us this blunt message with the poison in case we caught him. He must've had his family hostage as some persuasion to get him to drink it… Irene? Are you feeling alright?" His voice grew in volume, until he was standing behind me. "Ah, yes. I thought it was the Professor who shot him."

I turned to face him, Moriarty having vanished within the crowd. He continued to search my face, even as I avoided his deducing gaze. "He fired all the way from the alley… quite a straight shot," my voice quivered the slightest bit, though I decided to press on, "What was the message he wanted to convey, then?"

Sherlock stepped back from me and picked up the lamp, finally directing its light to the far wall. I concentrated on keeping regular breathing patterns as dark red strokes became apparent.

_Ms. Adler, how lovely to see you're recovering, dear!_

_Sherlock, I am quite interested in seeing how 'equal' we are._

_You can't escape me, but you already know._

_Are you_

_Going To leave so soon? Traveling is quite dangerous this time of year. You may_

_Die._

_~M._

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><p><strong>Anyone get the secret message inside Moriaty's writing? All shall be revealed in the author's note of next chapter. Coming soon: Will Irene and Sherlock flee London? What does the metal contraption do? What of Watson? Will Irene poison Holmes? Fluff is promised, but other than that my lips are sealed.<strong>

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed:**

**wolfhead: Hope this answered you question! Don't worry, Watson will be back within the two next chapters. Thanks for reviewing!**

**NorthernLights25: I did my best to post this fast. Hope you enjoyed! : )**

**SherlockForever: That was one of the nicest compliments I have ever recieved. I cannot tell you how happy you made me reading your review! Lol, it's my job to make you want to read the next chapter, sorry. Yes, though, Irene and Sherlock just have to kiss soon. Don't worry, it will happen! **

**Zenappa: Thanks! I shall do my best to keep the suspense and amp it up. Hope you didn't miss the Golden Globes too much, though. Thanks for the review!**

**Colorblind City: Awww! Thanks! I'm glad I could deliver once again. Don't worry, there's still more to come. I will include some more Irene/Sherlock banter soon, while it may not be in this chapter. I'm so glad I can make you fall in love with these two again. It's been great PMing with you. ; )**

**HarryGinnyDxC: I'm so glad you're enjoying this! Next chapter I promise that there will be more Irene/Sherlock-ness. Thank you for reviewing!**

**Irene Holmes: No problemo. : ) Glad I could deliver. Hope this cliffhanger is just as good, I tried my best. It's so great to see your reviews each chapter! I found a fan vid with "She's Always a Woman", check it out: youtube . com / watch?v=4sCtw 1Nqm P0 (Take out the spaces) I think I'm in love with this video...**

**TheWomanHoweverImprobable: I like that theory! Anyways, I'm glad you liked it. I will deffinately consider your suggestion! Thanks for your review!**

**Miss Savvy: I like your penname! Hope you enjoy this chapter- more action you know. )**


	12. Chapter 12

__**How about a nice, long chapter? I owe you one, don't I? I had to write a lot of this while my brother's abnoxious (LOUD) friend was over. Yes, typing while boys play video games in the background is quite fun... I don't reccomend it. Anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes**

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><p><em><strong>If you were smart, you would keep on walking<br>Out of my life as fast as you can  
>I'm not the one you should pin your hopes on<br>You're falling for the wrong kind of man  
>This is crazy! You know we should call it a day<br>Sound advice, great advice  
>Let's throw it away<strong>_

_ I thought I had everything I needed_  
><em>My life was set, my dreams were in place<em>  
><em>My heart could see way into the future<em>  
><em>All of that goes when I see your face<em>

- Sunset Boulevard (All rights reserved to Andrew Lloyd Webber)

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><p><strong>Chapter 12 ~Wallets, Disguises, and Dinner~<strong>

_**Adler**_

Sherlock unlocked the door to 221B and stood aside to let me through. "You read the message in a downwards fashion with only the capitalized words, I take it?" He asked.

I walked through briskly, shoving the revolver into my trouser's pocket. "_Ms. Adler, Sherlock,_ _you will die_,"I recited, the threat still hanging in my thoughts. "Quite short and straight to the point, wouldn't you agree? He wanted us to see it, obviously, if not well then the threat would be quite pointless…"

After handing him my jacket, I continued upstairs, the blood stains burned into my mind's eye. I quickly shoved open the door to Sherlock's room—well now it seemed to be our room. Striding in quickly, I went to the windows and locked them all, making sure the blinds are drawn. Sherlock entered the room right after me.

"You need to rest, Irene." After tossing down the metal contraption, he put his hand to my forehead once again, his other holding down my resistance, "You nearly pulled a man's arm off and fought with… quite a high fever unless the thermometer lies."

I pushed his hand away, agitatedly, "Don't tell me what to do! …If he was able to find out I was here so quickly and set up such a warning then he'll find us what—where ever we go! It's useless, and even if we _do _get away what of your Dr. Watson and his wife?"

"Fiancé, that is. And I'll tell you that I've already taken that into my consideration." He corrected, sitting down in the arm chair. He took up his violin, and pointed the bow in my direction. "Now sit down, you're straining your wound."

"Since when did you care about my well being?" I continued to stand in rebellion.

"Since I saw you nearly die," He replied quietly. "Now, do I need to handcuff you to the sofa?" He played a discord of random notes, giving me a look.

"Be careful, or I may just handcuff _you_… to the bed." After flashing my eyes in warning I smiled seductively, walking towards him with hips swaying. He paused in his playing and continued to stare for a moment before seemingly shaking himself back to earth. It was hard to keep from laughing, but soon he stood up abruptly.

I couldn't stand it anymore, and let out a small laugh.

Looking slightly pink, Holmes turned around and began to search around a pile of papers and vials, "Watson said your medicine should be around here somewhere. Ah! Here it is!" He produced a container of dark looking syrup, brandishing a spoon as if it were some sort of weapon.

I easily disarmed him of the piece of silverware, and snatched away the syrup as well. "Fool. I'm quite capable of spooning myself, thank you very much."

"You couldn't drink tea by yourself." He pointed out.

"Well I dislocated a man's shoulder **by myself.**"I popped the lid off and tossed it at the detective, to which he blocked. Tentatively I let the spoon dove inside and drew up the watery liquid. I raised it to my mouth, but soon found I lost all desire to actually swallow. "Now shut up—oh God, this smells awful!"

He smirked with obvious amusement, "The first class criminal defies the law constantly, kills without mercy, _marries _without mercy as well, and can't manage to take her medicine…" His hand swooped at me from behind, forcing the spoon to my lips. I nearly spilled the whole thing over myself, but it managed to get into my mouth.

I coughed, placing the syrup down with distaste. "There I did it. And you would've ruined _your _dress clothes if I hadn't complied."

"Well they're not so important if I allowed you of all people to wear them."

I smiled, turning and sitting down on what had become my sofa. Truthfully I was beyond exhausted, and my head seemed to buzz. I wasn't about to let him know, of course. My hand slipped casually into the neck line of my shirt, bringing out two leather wallets. Sherlock seemed to be busying himself with the contraption we found on the man.

The first wallet was that of the blonde man killed by his employer, Moriarty. He had a nice amount on him at his time of death (The Professor paid a nice sum), along with a check. It was addressed to Rufus Labonte, obviously the man's name. The second wallet, belonging to the corpse in the closet under the stairs, was a normal weight. A letter sending him to inspect the flat we were in was written to Tom Bruen.

"Hand them over, Irene," Sherlock said. He seemed to be frozen in his position of thinking; bent over with his elbows on his knees and his fingers pressed together.

I removed the money from Labonte's wallet, with a witty smirk. "You know, I don't think I will."

"Irene—"

I waved the bills in the air before placing them back within the neckline of my shirt. "If you prefer, I could just go steal someone else's wallet. Your _nanny _left her money lying around her room…"

"Take her money for all I care…" He rolled his eyes.

"Ah, so glad you approved of it. I was going to steal it anyhow, but with your blessing I'm at peace of mind." I leaned back onto the pillow, "I must go out and buy some more suitable clothing, and of course a nice hat. London can't hold a candle to the dresses in Paris, though."

"You make it impossible to think!" Sherlock kicked the stool he set the contraption on.

"I have that effect on some."

After a moment he turned his head to stare at me, "And in response to your previous sentences, I don't think you'll leave Baker Street anytime soon—well, unaccompanied."

I raised an eye brow, though I quite knew he was correct. "You're proposing a challenge, Mr. Holmes?"

"Oh, of course not," He shook his head, looking towards the closed and shuttered windows. "I was just pointing out that you're frightened, nothing more."

My eyes stole away from him, absent-mindedly staring at my feet. His words struck me strangely, but I was determined not to lose our small battle of words. "A fool could've noticed that."

A quiet softness held in the air for several seconds before the man spoke once again. Without even looking at him, I could tell he was no longer smirking from the softer tone in his voice. "When I told you that you were in over your head, I meant it."

"So you'd like to gloat now that I have had a bullet in my shoulder?" I sat up, voice curt. Words began to spill from my mouth, slow at first, but soon picking up into normal speed, "Or are you halfway admitting in your strange alien way that you actually care for me and have cared for me since the Blackwood case?"

He sat facing away from me; hair still tussled from the skirmish. To say I wasn't curious about his answer for awhile would be a lie. He was so unlike any other person I had come across that it made it near impossible to read his emotions, normally. I hadn't cracked the code to him, and I assumed he hadn't with me. It seemed to be a fact that both of us couldn't stand, yet both of seemed to be attracted by it all the same. Besides Moriarty, he had met his match in me. Both of us were still unclear as to if this was a positive thing, or a deadly weakness. In the end, I had reasoned, it was probably the two combined in some strange way.

Slightly impatient, I got up and walked up behind him, putting my hand upon the back of the arm chair. I tapped him on the shoulder, and slowly he turned his face upwards. As if a silent message passed between us, our heads seemed to glide towards each other. I closed my eyes, as did he, and our lips met gently. It was not a rough gesture, simply soft and tender. His hand moved to cup my face as mine placed itself behind his head.

"You'll be the end of me," he whispered hoarsely, pulling away a centimeter.

I tilted my head, looking into his hazel colored eyes, "You'll never be able to unravel me, though."

"I know that." He gave me a small smile, placing a strand of my hair back behind my ear. "And while we're on the subject—"

I suddenly heard the door fling open from behind, crashing into the wall. I didn't jump, but immediately thrust my hand in my pocket to grasp the revolver. As soon as I turned around, my hand relaxed. A ruffled John Watson was standing in the door way, clothes slightly wrinkled and folded with dirt smudged upon the knees and hems of his trousers. His face was slightly pink from the cold and strenuous physical activity.

"Please tell me why three men appeared as I was on my walk with Mary and, oh, tired to _kill _us!" He held up his own gun as proof, chest still rising and falling noticeably. From his expression I could tell he registered my face and tried to calm himself down slightly, "Nice to see you're on the mend Ms. Adler."

"And good afternoon to you as well Watson. You and the police have a great sense of when _not _to come barging in," Sherlock rose from the chair, smoothing back his black hair. He turned to me, "You might as well go buy those large hats or whatever, Irene. We shall be having dinner with the soon to be Watsons. And if you happen to have a bit of extra spending money—which I have no doubt you will—then please find some travelling clothing; something out of character, a disguise."

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><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

Irene stepped out of the cab, 'proper, respectable woman' act completely in motion. Her square-necked indigo dress, made of silk, rippled around her feet ending in a small trail. In general custom I held out my elbow with a small hint of sarcasm, after all, we were both pretending. She linked her gloved hand through mine gracefully.

The woman smiled with her red painted lips, teeth shining just as the strand of pearls around her neck. I considered the possibility that she had actually bought this for only a second, for she would find that too boring. The same went for the matching earrings as well. Her hair was placed in a small bun atop her head, each curl set in place. The rest of her chocolate waves flowed down to her back. She was beautiful, and she knew the fact quite well. Why else would she play it to her advantage?

After quickly paying the cabby, we strode towards the entrance of the restaurant. A couple (The man obviously being a layer from the way he held himself, his worn expression, and the briefcase he carried with him) passed by, forcing us to remain silent. As soon as they passed, however, I whispered, "Did you run into anyone on your outing?"

"No, but I was trailed for a bit," Irene responded, still holding her mask of pleasantness. "I lost them before returning. I wouldn't be surprised if they were here right now, perhaps in the form of the cabby."

We walked up to the host, (The man seemed to smell as if he kept going to the kitchen to steal deserts.) who lead us further back. The information on all the people we passed was overwhelming, as usual. I simply focused on the table ahead, Watson and Mary obviously having sighted us.

Mary stood up and offered me her hand. I held it and briefly bent down to press it to my lips to her velvet glove, "A pleasure to see you, as always, Ms. Morstan."

"You as well," Mary smiled, glancing over at Irene. "Do my eyes fool me, or do I see you've brought a lady with you? Well Mr. Holmes, this certainly is a surprise."

I shifted slightly, Watson's eyes heavy upon my every move. _Yes, saying nothing will be better… avoiding wine getting thrown at you or never ending reprimanding. _

Thankfully Irene stepped forwards and curtsied, "Elizabeth Norton."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Norton," Mary curtsied in return, "Your necklace is absolutely beautiful!"

Watson exchanged glances with me.

"Why thank you," Irene blushed slightly. I had to keep myself from laughing as I pulled out the chair for her.

The meal passed rather slowly, though nothing wrong seemed to occur. As Watson and Mary talked about stupidly pointless things, Irene and I added small quips but normally nothing more. We were preoccupied with examining the crowd for a spy from Moriarty. Fortunately or unfortunately, I couldn't seem to find one, as did Irene.

After the empty plates were taken back Irene spoke, "Before I arrived, I was starving. Now of course I'm quite full, but you can't imagine the sorts of food he keeps in his flat."

"Oh, I can." Watson murmured. The three of them started to laugh slightly, forcing me to give a passable smile.

"Come, come, Ms. Norton!" I said, "I fed you just fine when you were visiting. Those pastries were just from the oven when I got them."

"No," Watson looked over the top of his wine glass, "When _I _picked them up before leaving."

Mary chuckled lightly, but soon her laughter wore off. "You must tell me what you two were doing last night, Holmes. John and I received your letter and he went off in a hurry. Was it something involving a case? Did the police need help?"

"Yes, it was rather urgent. The murderer behind the serial killings in the paper was spotted and they needed us to track him down." I responded. It was not a completely lie, for Scotland Yard _had _arrested the serial killer the same very night.

Irene set her napkin back upon the table, "Well that was really a lovely meal Mr. Holmes."

Mary and Watson nodded in their agreement. "But do tell," Mary chirped, "what is the meaning of this? Is there some special occasion I forgot to remember?"

I pulled two tickets from my pocket, holding them for those seated at the table to see. "In addition to an apology for the foul surprise you two received, I'd like to deliver an early wedding present." I tossed the tickets to the doctor, who caught them in the air. "You will find two boat tickets to France for tomorrow. I have made arrangements for you to stay in Paris."

Mary put her hand to her chest, "Why Mr. Holmes! This is a wonderful surprise. Thank you."

She looked to her decorated soldier, who smiled back at her. When he came to face me, however, his grin was gone, "Holmes… well, yes, this is _quite _a surprise. Tomorrow though?"

I nodded firmly, "You _must _leave tomorrow."

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><p><strong>I'm sorry but my emails going all weird on me. No indiviual responses, but thank you to everyone who reviewed. : )<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Greetings! Before I start, I'd like to thank Luna Elen on approving a bit of dialouge between Irene and Sherlock : ) **

**Note: Bit of language in this chapter**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

Irene and I stood at the top of a rather large hill, overlooking the train station that we had dropped off Watson and Mary. I saw them off a half an hour ago, slipping several weapons into the doctor's suit case and pockets. Now a train steadily progressed south before us carrying precious cargo to an awaiting ferry, then hopefully Paris, France. Normally not one to worry, I had the ugly feeling that they would hit trouble which meant they would. _Watson will be able to handle it. He's going to be fine. _

"Have you ever travelled on foot?" The woman asked casually, striding up behind me. From a distance she made a very convincing gypsy; a colorful but dirty skirt fell past her knees, covered by an equally worn leather jacket and belt. Her curls cascaded down her shoulders, an unusual choice of hair style, stopping at a heavy filled pack.

I slid my binoculars back into my pocket, "No. And I don't intend to do it more than I need. This cold is absolutely terrible, and I know when night falls it'll get much worse."

"What an insightful deduction, Mr. Holmes. I never would've thought of that myself." She smiled and began to walk down the slope, "With the amount of blankets you shoved into your bag I don't think we need to worry about freezing; overheating seems more probable. If we don't make good time, however, we won't make it to the inn. I don't suppose you want to sleep in the woods, do you?"

I hoisted my rather cumbersome pack onto my shoulders. "Stop pretending you know what you're doing, Irene. It's obvious you haven't travelled in such a fashion for at least ten years, from your posture. Carrying such a burden upon your back would leave someone slightly bent forwards or with weak shoulders." I jogged slightly to catch up, to which she turned her head and smirked at me.

"Did you put corsets in your calculations as well?"

"…Perhaps."

After silently making our way down the hill, we clung to the shelter of the woods so that we would appear hidden from the train tracks. White puffs remained in the sky, though we couldn't see past the broad and naked trees. The last sounds of the train fled quietly afterwards, taking the last evidence of Watson and Mary's safety with it.

"It was your plan, if you need someone to blame," Irene said. I returned her remark with a quizzical stare. "Worrying about him does nothing for you and for them."

I kicked a stick, though was soon was attacked at by a low hanging branch. I cursed under my breath as it hit my already freezing cheek. A bit annoyed I asked, "Then what do you wish me to do?" _Bad question_, I immediately thought.

"Well," she looked thoughtful for a moment, though from the side I could see the possibilities turning in her head. Finally she turned to me, face soft instead of smiling with the intentions of a devil. "Do you know why adults always look at their smiling children and wish they were young again?"

"Because they know that they would have longer to live and longer to proceed on with their dreadfully boring life."

She rolled her eyes, playing with the hem of her skirt. "They play pretend, Sherlock; imagine. Children know how to slip into a false, more intriguing reality where they design what happens. As we grow up we decide we no longer need that ability, so we shed it, unknowing that we'd never be able to learn it again. That's why they're so happy."

_Who does she think you are? _I wondered as I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck. I looked at the woman somewhat oddly, though her vision was fixed upon the uneven ground beneath her boot-clad feet.

"Why don't we try to do as they do?" Irene purposely knocked into me, though I responded quickly and managed to push her lightly towards a tree. She was able to recover without missing a beat and continued our pace. "You can pretend to not be a cold mechanical thinking machine—just try."

I snaked my arm behind her neck, grasping the loop on the back of her back. Pulling her in, I looked her in the eyes, "A leopard can't change its spots, even if a fox persuades it that it can."

"It could wear a coat," Irene pointed out.

I shook my head, "Well that's impossible, or impossibly stupid. Imagine the poor soul who would have to get the leopard into the garment. He'd end up as lunch—"

"You're over thinking this," She sighed, "It's a metaphor!"

"Well, would you stop stealing if I told you not to? Of course not. So what would lead you to believe that I would do as you said I should?" I pulled out a bottle of which I did not know the contents of, un-stoppered it, and took a swig. "One would say it is of my nature, unchangeable and permanent."

She swiped the bottle from my leather-clad hands with a wry smile, "You'd think the stuff you drink would be enough to change even that…" She held it to her nose, "This is medical alcohol, you realize."

"'Course I realized," I gave her a smile and stole the glass bottle back just as easily as she had taken it. I took another sip before putting it back, "That's why I decided to drink it."

Irene kicked a small pebble along with us for another set of paces, and then strategically aimed it at my ankle. It found its mark, causing me to stumble. She laughed as I began to become a victim of gravity. I wouldn't allow myself to fall without bringing her down as well, though.

Her laugh fell lightly, the opposite as to how she dug her shoulder in my stomach as she fell. If I weren't cringing slightly, I may have noticed the bell-like quality of the way each sound rang. _Have I ever heard her laugh? _I began to wonder, having no recollection of hearing the beautiful noise. It was equal to the beauty of her voice in the operas I had seen her preform in, though seemingly different. Perhaps because it was only for me.

We both took a small second to stop and examine our surrounds, both on the cold forest ground. White specks drifted down around us, sprinkling the ground with the frozen precipitation.

"Snow," Irene flashed a brief smile, blinking her blue eyes at me.

I adjusted my scarf, "I hate the bloody snow. It's worse than cold, for it stings. And somehow it always ends up being thrown at me; Watson, the common boys upon the street… Ice is worse, however. When small to medium sized dogs cause you to trip, it's rather unforgiving."

She began to stand up, "I see the Doctor has given you enough opportunity to discover that."

I gave a nod as she began to smoothly walk away.

Suddenly, though I had been expecting it, a small rumbling began in the direction we had come from. It soon became easy to identify as the rhythmic beat of a train, the one I knew to leave two hours after Watson and Mary's train. I knew for fact that the caboose of the machine was a baggage car. This meant one thing: it was empty. I could only hope that there was an easy way to get on it.

"Come along, Ms. Adler!" I called to her, finally standing up my feet. She turned around and I gestured to the direction of the train tracks. "We're not possibly walking all the way, dear."

Side by side, we ran towards the metal lines, clinging to the cover of trees and the heavy brush. After locating closest hiding place closest to the tracks, Irene and I slid behind the shelter. I felt the warm pressure of her arm against mine, gently rising and falling from being slightly out of breath. I found my hand reaching out for hers. She didn't respond for several seconds, but slowly accepted.

She looked at me, defined cheeks highlighted with pink. Irene yelled in order to be heard above the overpowering pounding of the quickly approaching train. "The turn over there will force it to slow down! Run as fast as you can, or we'll miss it!" She brought her head to look over the rim of the rock we were behind.

I pulled her down quickly, "We'll be seen! Use your ears instead!"

The wind picked up, teasing her chocolate hair and nearly blowing off my hat. The _click, click _of the train turned into loud drum beats as the train drew nearer, accompanied by the roaring of the engine and occasional whistles. As if we were hit with a sudden wave, the sound picked up by a startling volume as it began to fly past us.

I nearly flew as I sprung into a dead sprint, dragging Irene behind me. It took hardly less than a second for her to toss my hand away and run slightly ahead. I preferred being behind her anyways for I could make sure she got on. As we ran, feeling as if we would plummet to the ground at any moment, the train sped beside us. Since it was obviously faster than us, the majority of the machine went by until it began to come to the end.

The caboose was only one cart behind us, and soon it would speed along with the rest of the train. I rushed past Irene with a sudden amount of speed, getting closer to the train. In my head, still images of where and when to get upon the metal ledge on the back of the baggage car told me what to do. Irene's questioning glace turned into a blur as I took the leap.

The wind stung my eyes and tossed flakes of snow in my direction, though I fought to keep them open in order to see where I flew. In a rush of white and sound, my hands suddenly grasped cold metal. I mechanically locked my arms after pulling my body up and finding a place to put my feet.

"Hurry up!" Cried Irene, still running from the side with her multi-colored skirt billowing behind her.

I swung my legs over the bars of the ledge, landing with the grated metal beneath my feet. I quickly removed my pack and unceremoniously deposited it in the corner. I stood towards the side with my arms out stretched, finally able to survey Irene's situation. If her current pace continued, she wouldn't be able to jump on, much less avoid causing further damage to her shoulder.

I held my arms outstretched, voice sore from the wind, "Irene! Run as fast as you can and jump! Hurry, you won't make it!"

"Stand back then!" She replied, doing her best to sound over the wind.

"The law of gravity will be against you, and your shoulder will most likely prevent a safe landing—so, no!"

She shook her head frustrated, though it was clear she was tiring and that her pace was slowing.

I looked towards the front of the train, "You have about eight seconds before I go to Paris alone!"

Irene hoisted her back pack up and hiked up her skirt enough to reveal black stockings. She tore forwards with the fastest speed I saw her every run at until she was slightly past the caboose. Her face darted towards my direction with an expression I couldn't identify, and then looked towards her mark.

In a flash of auburn hair, pale skin and fabric, her feet departed from the ground, hurtling herself towards the moving train. She didn't cry out, nor make any sound at all. Though upon her face was the recognition that she wouldn't make it. I, however, offered help for a reason.

I reached out as far as I could manage, one hand grabbing her underarm, the other grabbing her shoulder. Her _left _shoulder.

She tried to shake my hands off, but the red spot seeping through her jacket represented the immense pain she was most likely going through. I assisted her in getting over the railing, though she did most of the work herself. Once on the other side, Irene slumped to the floor.

"You bastard," she spat in a whisper, trying to inspect her newly hurt injury.

I knelt down in order to be level with her, "If I didn't help you, your head would be split open up the train tracks." Gently, I made an attempt to pry the loops of her pack from her shoulders.

"Well, a master of martial arts could've used more coordination to…ah…" Her chest heaved as the shock wore out, "T-to avoid this."

I advanced to get a good idea of how injured she was. Irene moved her free arm to block, and glared at me in warning. With a sigh I said stiffly, "…I'm sorry, Ms. … well, Irene."

The door to the caboose flung open, landing against the metal with a loud bang. It nearly hit the two of us. "Stowaways, and gyspsys at that!"

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><p><strong>A good long chapter too? Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are appreciated! <strong>

**SherlockForever: To be honest, these should be my consistant lengths of chapters, so I'm working on that. Your welcome! Lol glad you were satisfied : ) Expect some more of that stuff up the road! Hope to hear from you soon!**

**Colorblind City: Hmmm... When's the last time I heard from you? Jk, hey again! Lol your review made me laugh, because I never thought of it like that. Well they're going to pretty extreme lengths to keep their running away a secret so lying to Mary seems kinda minor to jumping on trains. It's for her own safetly too. I'm glad my references please you lol. Yeah, poor Mary. She's a smart cookie though, so she'll be alright . Thank you! ; )**

**Your Favorite Oxymoron: Glad you enjoyed it, cause I really like writing it. I know, it got me so upset. I kinda expected it from the trailer cause she was only in one outfit, etc. I have a 6th sense I'm told too... Anyhow, I don't think that certain character is really dead. I mean they aren't that stupid to drink that tea, and they never showed a corpse which normally means something in these movies. Thanks so much!**

**SayuriTsukiko: Yay, lol! I'm very glad you liked it! Thank you!**

**NothernLights25, liine 95: Got it! Hope this update was quick enough. Enjoy, and thanks! **

**Thank you to everyone who added this to their favorites or alert list! **


	14. Chapter 14

**This post came out a bit later than I'd like it, sorry guys! It's worth the wait though, trust me. I got a long chapter for you all to enjoy : ) Anyhow, updates are going to get very messed up because I'm in a big production that will consume my whole weekend, when I normally write. I will do the best I can, but by mid-April we should be back on track. Thank you for your patience and enjoy!**

**Thank you to Colorblind City for helping with ideas.**

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><p><strong>~Chapter 14~ Baggage Cars, Metal Contraptions and Suitcases<strong>

_**Adler**_

"Gentlemen," Sherlock started, shifting his weight to the side. This enabled me to recognize the two intruders as policemen. "How much for a ticket? I'll pay for myself and for the fine young miss, and we'll be out of your hair." He held out a reasonable sum of money in front of the two stern-looking members of Scotland Yard.

The one in the front had a red face and defined side burns sprinkled with grey. His partner, who stood behind him at the door, wore a somewhat scrutinizing expression and a large, drooping nose.

_I'm not in the mood for this! _ I shot an annoyed glance at the detective as his money was going through the inspections of the policemen. My shoulder flared and burnt excruciatingly; the warm liquid seeping through my clothing wasn't soothing. Sherlock tilted his head at the wound and made an odd gesture with his hand. Though, soon the two men were speaking again.

The man closest to the both of us, red-face, placed the money back in Sherlock's gloved hand, "All stowaways are to be arrested, say's orders. Especially if they 'appen to be bloody gypsies…" It was almost a perfect accent, almost a perfect explanation. However, I never knew the police to be so fearless, much less so aggressive.

The one thing that happened to give them away (besides the fact that I was watching to see if they were genuine) was the fact that the speaking man's partner behind him drew his gun too early.

From where I sat, I grabbed Sherlock's hand as hard as I could, forcing him to fall to the side and miss the shot fired at him. The bullet seemed to just graze his jacket, but missed. My shoulder began to scream in agony at this abrupt movement.

With their cover blown, the two men began to attack. One went for me, the other at Sherlock. He disarmed red-face quickly enough, and sent the gun off onto the snow. Of course he could manage, but… _You can't doubt your abilities when you're going to be killed! _My mind screamed.

As big-nose approached, I began to tense up. He seemed rather confident. This was probably because Moriarty didn't bother telling them who I was and he assumed I was simply an injured, sniffling woman. Perhaps the Professor _did_ explain our identities to the men and he was simply snarling because he saw I was indeed wounded.

_Your legs! _I began to think rapidly, bracing myself, _they're free, and if you can kick him far enough back, you'll be able to stand up once again. A revolver—yes, you hid one inside your right boot._

As Sherlock began to punch his attacker, I dug my sharp heel into the stomach of the approaching man. He let out a loud, "Oof!" before grabbing my ankle and twisting it painfully to the side. I tried to pull my leg free, beginning to grow hesitant of these two men. Finally I managed to swing my other leg up to kick his arm off.

In a short second, big-nose skidded back into the door to the baggage car. I grabbed the freezing rail behind me, and yanked myself upwards despite the growing pain.

"Put more pressure on the other arm!" Sherlock managed to say between dodging blows from red-face, "Be careful, darling, these men are quite sharp…"

Big-nose gave what passed for a chuckle before drawing his own gun and aiming it. Barely able to recover, I sprung forwards and grabbed his wrist. He anticipated this and aimed a blow to my face. I dodged perfectly after several years of practice, and took a punch at his throat. It landed, though weaker than I had hoped it to be.

I began to scramble backwards to give myself more room when a hand grabbed my waist. I was suddenly yanked to the side, through the open door of the baggage car. No sooner had I realized this, than my body made contact with the wooden floor.

Sherlock stood above me and closed the door sharply, only to almost be hurled backwards as the door popped open once again. Moriarty's men pushed it open from the other side with a disconcerting amount of strength. Seeing as how the detective was losing the battle quickly, I sat up as fast as I could and pushed my body against the door as did he.

"Get the lock!" I cried, unable to stand the pain emitting from my shoulder.

He continued to struggle, planting his heels in the wood, "We aren't strong enough, the two of us, to get the door closed far enough! Their body mass is far greater than yours and mine combined!"

I exhaled angrily and grabbed the revolver out of Sherlock's hand. Then quickly I turned the barrel towards the door, praying it was thin enough. With no hesitation, I pulled the trigger. A loud bang filled the small space, and the pressure from the other side decreased. It didn't take more than a second to lock it.

Sherlock grabbed my right hand and hauled me to my feet. We darted towards the side as another bullet shot through the door. "Couple more shots and the door will be weak enough to burst through." He put a light hand on my shoulder, "And a couple more encounters and the muscle will be beyond healing."

I shrugged him off, "Even if we move onto the next baggage car, they'll follow us!"

"Right…" He looked to through the closest window towards the oncoming men.

"There's bound to be more of them. I rarely see him send out a party less than four," I pulled him towards the door leading to the next car. A sudden flash of movement caused me to look towards the other side of suitcases stacked upon each other. To my dread, two more men sprang forwards. "For once I wish I was incorrect!

His sight remained transfixed behind, as we sprinted to the end of the car. He nearly dodged the next bullet when he suddenly exclaimed, "The metal contraption!"

Behind us, the sound of wood snapping signaled big-nose and red-face breaking through.

"They have one don't they?" I asked, momentarily pausing.

"The one with the red face, I saw him through the window! He was holding a similar contraption, and if it's anything like the previous one, it's capable of sending signals via airwaves upon the set of a command." He muttered, as I turned to open the door to the next car. "Oh this is going to eat away at me… what is it all for?"

I absorbed the words, finally cracking the wooden door open, "Well, it can't be a bomb. Moriarty was set upon not killing you, unless he did it himself." I crossed to the next car and looked into the glass of the window. The second baggage cart was empty and pitch black with no sense of movement save for the jolts of the ride. "No one's in there."

"Now what do we do with the ever decreasing amount of time?" He asked in the oddly calm way he did when his mind was racing. "…Take them full on? 'Course not! Your shoulder has made fighting almost suicidal… They should be breaking through that door within the next minute."

"How about jumping off?" I offered tilting his chin towards my face, "Shooting at least would work! Say we run back to the passenger's compartments and stay under cover until we arrive?"

He briefly kissed my cheek before pushing past me and easily hopping onto the next car's metal grating, "No, no, no… that won't work!" He exclaimed across the loud thunder of wind. "Behind you, dear."

I locked the door behind myself and continued on across the small gap. As I double checked it, I saw the outline of one of the men barging to collide with the door I had just closed. He hit it with a strong force, sending me wobbling close to the hole.I caught my footing quickly, in panic; though as I looked down and idea struck me, "Disconnect the cart!"

"Ah, they'll forgive us for losing their luggage I suppose," He held out a hand, which I ignored and hopped across. The detective examined the lock holding both cars together, "Should be simple enough, we just need time—which happens to be the one thing we lack! It's a simple way of fitting two pieces together with a strong, highly immovable piece of metal holding together under the safety of a lock. Do you have a stick with you?"

I pulled out my revolver once again; eyes steady upon the shaking door, "What do you think?"

He sighed; now fully on his stomach to get in better reach of the lock. "There's a loose piece of railing to your right. It's dented where it's screwed into the grating that makes up the floor."

Sure enough there was. I kicked it, right hand still grasping the cold piece of metal. After several attempts it gave out and I handed it to Sherlock. He took it quickly without glancing back at me, just before the door gave way.

The first blow came from the wood itself as it fell towards us. Sherlock, being on the ground, was unable to do anything, so naturally my hands flew up to catch it. However the piece was rather heavy and immediately affected my shoulder. I managed to fling it over into the snow, nearly winded.

I fired my revolver quickly at big-nose, who dodged a second too late. His cry of anguish was stifled, as if Moriarty trained them to never show weakness. A new wound grew red upon his chest, slightly smaller than the one upon his stomach. After several seconds, big-nose fell like a marionette cut from his strings, the speed of the train throwing his lifeless body into the railing on their side. The last thing I saw of his face was the eye's rolling back into his head before it hit the metal.

Red-face, however, didn't seem to be going for me. From the other grating, he kicked Sherlock, his foot colliding to the side of his head. Though the blow sent him rolling over, thankfully the detective remained awake and tried to gather his bearings.

The other two men who joined them in the first baggage cart looked about ready to jump to our side. I stood at the edge in order to block them. I pulled the trigger again, only to find that I was out of bullets. "Not now…"

Sherlock was now attempting to bludgeon Moriarty's man with the part of railing in his hand, landing a few hits every so often. Red-face was attempting to land more kicks on him, so he was mostly using it for blocking.

"Do it!" I cried, trying to assist him just to get enough time. The wind seemed to drown me out however, as did the flaring pulse in my shoulder and the drumming in my ears. It felt as if I was being washed over with overpowering sound.

Then, with slight struggle, he plunged the pole down into the key. From above I pulled it back just as he did. Sparks flew up as a loud _clank_ shook the metal grating beneath.

One of the men that joined the chase sprung forward, even as their cart began to lurch backwards. He made an attempt to grab Sherlock's coat collar. Unfortunately he succeeded, and the cart began to separate. Instinctively, I dove down to grab his slipping body, traveling to the edge. He attempted to shake the man off, arms preoccupied, but to no avail. I began to start panicking as we both started being pulled forwards.

"Weapon—or anything for the matter!" I yelled atop the chaos.

Sherlock craned his neck in my direction, "Second pocket to the right."

I fetched the item he had in mind, finding another loaded revolver. All it took was one simple pull of the trigger, and Sherlock was free. The man however, was still alive. Not only did he grin at us as his car was being left behind, but he also took a small metallic box from red-face and held it for us to see.

The two of us remained frozen as the luggage car, now also holding three of Moriarty's men and a corpse, shrunk into a tiny dot upon the horizon. And then it was gone.

"How did they find us? And what on earth is that metal contraption—well contraptions, actually. There's bound to be more of them, but what does it do? Where does it send the radio message and what message—"

"Did you pack some salve, or anything to make this stop hurting dear? Oh ignore that, I'm pretending that you're a prepared person which obviously is a lie." I walked past the pacing Sherlock, struggling to take off my leather jacket. Once I managed to take it off, I sat down upon a pile of luggage, "We need something to bind this with, Sherlock. Got anything in the bag you stole from Dr. Watson?"

He paused agitatedly, "I suppose I left it on the other luggage car."

"What do you mean?" I asked with a raised eyebrow, beginning to unwind the soaked dressing on my shoulder wound.

"I mean that I left my backpack on the luggage car, of course. Thought that I made that quite clear," he abandoned pacing and seated himself beside me, "For you also left your pack on the luggage car, so don't be so accusing. Ah…" He pointed to the suitcase I was currently using a foot rest, "The tag says 'Dawson', he's a surgical doctor from the Westminster hospital. He recently graduated, and from the appearance of the case itself, recently married. It's quite clean and handled carefully, so obviously a present from a _dearly_ loved one. This is precisely why he is traveling alone. I doubt Mrs. Dawson knows."

I smiled slightly as I turned my attention towards it, "In that case, if he's off to meet his lover, than I doubt that he would have any gauze or medical supplied with him. Pardon that, he probably does on the other hand, pretending that he's off on a work related call."

"Only one way to find out," The detective gave a grin before swiping the case from under my heels. After he gave a look at it he made an attempt at opening the lock, before pulling his hands away. His grin had vanished, and was no replaced by his pensive expression, "Now why would our Dawson need to lock his suitcase?"

I leaned in to look at the lock, and slid it onto my lap, "He's either keeping information from his wife very carefully, or doing something other than doctoring." I pulled the suitcase lock close to my ears. I turned each knob waiting for a click, though I didn't hear a signal sound save for my fingernails brushing against the metal and leather. "This lock has been made professionally, so one's such as us can't get inside."

A loud tear caused me to look up.

Sherlock was holding a long strip of what looked to be a part of a dress. He shrugged his shoulders, "I haven't been able to find fabric such as this for a certain experiment… They'll certainly be happy to contribute to such a ground breaking science discovery."

I tossed the suitcase back at him, causing him to abruptly drop the fabric in order to catch the object. "You didn't leave your lock picking kit on the other car did you?"

He drew his coat to the side, revealing the leather poach attached to his belt. "Looks like we have something to do until we get to Dover."

"That, thinking about the metal contraption, watching for intruders and mending me," I corrected. I paused suddenly, looking at the man for a good second. We held each other's gaze for a long moment in which I started to shake my head.

"What?" He asked, beginning to meddle with the suitcase's lock again.

I brushed a fleck of snow out of his hair and gave a quiet chuckle.

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><p><em><strong>Coming up: Spying on Watson, Fluff, and France! <strong>_

**Alright. I'm running out of quotes so if anyone has some that they'd really like to be used, PM them to me. Thanks! Again, reviews are wonderful!**

**And don't kill me. My computer is spazzing AGAIN and I can't get this stupid machine to save the responses! As an apologie, I will PM everyone back for their reviews. Trust me, I've typed my responses to each review twice, and this computer isn't keeping them! Uhh...**


	15. Chapter 15

**~Chapter 15: Ignorance is Bliss~**

_**Holmes**_

Smiling; it took less muscles than frowning for sure, but I rarely did either. Perhaps when cracking a case, defeating a foe or sarcastically speaking I let the corners of my lips pull back. Waston said he never saw me at any time let out the slightest sign of positive emotion unless solving some puzzle of sorts. This seemed reasonable enough for my only real joy was in my work. Strange how I found myself feeling rather pleasant, seated next to a world class criminal at a park in no place other than Paris, France.

For the moment, everything was simply happening. It was odd not to be working at all; Dawson's suitcase still locked shut and hiding in the hotel room, the unknown machines Moriarty was sending out with all of his men were still a mystery and Irene abandoning most of her weapons. Most.

Irene had been rather anxious to get out of the room as soon as we had awoken. She claimed that the longer we sit in the same position, the more danger we were in. My protests to travelling about Paris were minimal, so we departed.

Yes, we had gotten to the country from Dover with no trouble at all, which what was caused me to be rather uncertain about traveling around. Moriarty was bound to have known we were here, which seemed to make our escape plans futile. He found us so quickly upon the train, though that was still in England. We had taken extra precautions, like upon the ferry ride to France; we changed identities from gypsies to a rich French couple. Either way, both of us knew we weren't safe at all. So two tickets were purchased to go to Germany, though the train we were to catch was planned to leave in the early morning of the next day. It was enough time to make sure that Watson and Mary were safely hidden.

"You pit pocketed the man next to us at the café, his gold pocket watch and several coins. You also managed to get that woman on the ferry; her pearl necklace," I whispered to Irene, slipping my hand from her shoulder and towards the drawstring pouch in her other hand. "I'm afraid such strenuous activity is not allowed for one such as you, considering your condition, that is."

She gave a fake smile and smoothly sat back more comfortably on the park bench, casually pulling the drawstring pouch back out of reach. Her elegant pale palm went to straighten out her rather large hat, "I simply took something easy within reach that he would no longer need. He could easily buy another couple watches if he so desired. And the woman was stupid enough to leave it sitting around. Another would've gotten it if I didn't, so why let it fall to chance that the money the robber got in return for the pearls would be spent on something horrible."

"As if your hats aren't horrible," I shot back, giving a nod towards the thing.

The woman had a strange liking for highly decorated hats, one of which I never would understand. The one she was wearing was dark magenta that tilted down towards her forehead. It had a small bit of black netting that covered her eyes and covered with dark colored flowers and a white rose. It was the first thing she bought upon our arrival. We had only just gotten a room before she snuck off. When she reappeared she claimed that her wardrobe was a vital part of staying undercover in character and was hence forth very important. Stupid and expensive as it was, it looked rather complemented her

Irene tilted her head, smirking slightly, "Mr. Holmes, that jacket you stubbornly wear about your flat is enough to prove you don't have a proper opinion of fashion."

"That was rather uncalled for, Ms. Adler," I said at normal volume, my voice ringing out into the chilly park. The place was rather empty for the weather was still freezing and slippery ice lingered upon the paths and streets. All the same, I could tell Irene was watching each person who walked, as did I. "And who are you to say that my opinion is wrong, hmm? You American's are so one-sided, black-and-white. You fail to notice that things are often many a shade of gray..."

The woman shook her head slightly, a small grin forming upon her lips, "Quite a philosophical thing to say, Sherlock. Who did you steal that from?"

"Not important," I responded quickly, facing her. With a small flourish I pulled a small pamphlet from my pocket. Irene watched with slight interest as I turned it open for her to inspect. As she took it to read it, I spoke, "I thought we might as well enjoy Paris for the short time we're here. I know you sang here upon several occasions."

"George Bizet's _Carmen_," she read aloud, giving me a stare, "I made a brief acquaintance with the mezzo in the lead several years ago... The Doctor's going isn't he?" Irene pulled her fine scarf closer around her neck, sparing half of her attention to a passing group of men.

_Of course she knows what you're up to,_ my mind spoke above my analyzing of the passerby's. Instead of revealing this, however, I rested my elbow on the back of the bench, "While I may be subject to my work and my work alone, it doesn't mean I can't appreciate the arts. Actually, it's quite a bit of fun to pick out every little mistake the first violinist plays, and wouldn't you agree a night at the opera is a lovely way to end our stay in the country? And if my desire to go to watch a performance is such a shock to you that you believe it is of another cause then I'm sure Moriarty will hardy expect it either."

"Ah, so he is going." She nudged me with her shoulder, her red lips falling into a grin at my annoyed expression.

My eye brows furrowed in mock frustration, "What gave me away?"

"I saw him from the window from our room with that fiancé of his," she smiled coyly, gloved hands absentmindedly playing with the collar of my jacket.

Since our arrival in France, I had been silently following the husband and wife to be. Not noticeably, but in small quiet ways. Once Irene had fallen asleep the night before last, I stole out of the hotel to check upon them. I dressed as a waiter at a restaurant they were staying late at and made sure that there were no spies upon their tails. I kept my distance, following them to cafés, parks, and watching from windows. It didn't really matter, since Watson had not the slightest idea…

Irene continued this action for several seconds more, to which I sat awkwardly and watched. She let out a quiet chuckle at this and leant her head upon my shoulder.

The gesture was smooth, unforced. It wasn't as if she was moving in her normal graceful way, for before when we were around each other she seemed _different_. Perhaps more guarded, or watching my every move to take note. Her recent actions were nothing like this. In fact, they seemed rather genuine.

"Are you worried she's going to murder him the second you turn away?" Irene continued to smile sarcastically.

I patted her on the shoulder lightly, "You know very well who I'm concerned will murder them, and most would say murder's not a joking matter. (However, you happen to be an exception) Now tell me, Ms. Adler—"

"Irene is fine." She said quietly. To this I looked down to lock eyes with her, to which she explained, "I never liked formalities…"

After a moment of strangely comfortable silence, I gave a small snicker, "You fooled everyone else."

"Try wearing a dress."

"Actually, I have."

She gave a quizzical glance before I continued, "It was a disguise... The whole mess was rather comical— Watson didn't think so of course, but it was rather because of the face he drew up when I returned back to the flat. I understand your dislike of them though, that's what I meant."

Irene nodded slightly before drawing away, sitting up straight to look at me in the eye. I casually glanced from the random sights of the area back to her clear blue eyes. Several moments passed like this, to which I determined that she seemed to be analyzing me. Why she was doing this was beyond me, so I acted as if I couldn't tell. And so the minute passed, breeze teasing at her curls and the lace on her hat.

At long last she finally spoke again. "I think I was wrong."

"Hmm?" I put a hand to my hat to prevent the cold breeze from pulling it away.

"You're not a cold deduction machine; you're a man."

"What a brilliant observation, I hardly could tell."

"No, listen."

I could tell by her face she was serious. A trace of a smile was still upon her features, but only a ghost. It was an expression I only saw when she was concentrating. Perhaps it was so alien because I never fully believed anything she said up until this point, or the fact that she never made an effort to try to be truthful. All of her body language supported this, so there was no evidence to prove she was going to lie.

Her delicate hand slowly reached up towards my ear, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind the cartilage. "Watson would agree with me, whether he likes it or not. Perhaps even that Mary would as well. No matter how much you disagree or ignore it, you have feelings Sherlock Holmes, buried somewhere beneath."

I caught her hand before it left my cheek, and held it, unknowing what else to do.

A long moment of silence passed.

_Push her away, _logic responded, _she embodies the devil; so tempting and sweet until you uncover her true form. Emotional attachment; what does it do? It's weakness to you and to her! It's a stupid endeavor to love, look what it's done to all the criminals you put an end to. It can turn a man into a monster, that's what it's capable of. A force that strong, something so foreign to you… stop before it's too late…_

I should've listened to logic, for I always did. It never seemed to lead me astray, despite what others thought. So why was I ignoring it? Because I knew that it would only be temporary? Because I thought love couldn't truly affect me, or kill me? Did it matter?

Irene tilted her chin upwards, and leant in slightly. I followed the motion until our lips met. We both closed our eyes, leaving the world around us for a brief moment.

She pulled away after several seconds, blinking through the icy cold. "I'm rather hungry… I saw a crêpe stand by the entrance."

"Right then," I pulled the collar of my jacket closer around my neck, unknowing how to be feeling at the moment.

* * *

><p>The man continued signaled the cabby to continue driving.<p>

This was only too lovely, perhaps because he knew it would happen exactly in this way. However, many things seemed to work in the same fashion. Despite this, it always seemed to delight him when his hypothesizes were correct, though not surprise him.

How could he not smile? He had hardly begun to set things in motion and Holmes was already beginning to unravel. The pair of them were some of the smartest opponents he ever faced, but oh how stupid they could be as well.

Yes, very stupid and very unknowing.

Moriarty settled back and examined his own ticket to the Paris Opera House. _Ignorance is bliss, or so they say. I'll let them enjoy several deep breaths before the plunge, for the plunge will be fatal; fatal and devastating. _

"I do look forward to this evening," he mused to his companion, "I do enjoy Bizet's work…"

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed this! As I did last chapter, all review responses will be done through PM. Thank you to everyone who reviewed!<strong>

**I will, again, try to write as much as I can, but we enter tech week soon and then the preformance, so it could take awhile. I'll do my best though!**

**Anyhow, next time we reach the beginning of the climax! (Yes, hate me for being evil and leaving you on a cliff-hanger)**

**Please press the button below ; )**


	16. Chapter 16

_First there is desire_

_ Then passion_

_ Then suspicion_

_Jealosy, Anger, Betrayel!_

_ Where love is for the highest bidder,_

_ There can be no trust. _

_Without trust,_

_ There is no love!_

_ Jealosy._

_ Yes, jealosy..._

_Will drive you mad!_

~Moulin Rouge, El Tango De Roxanne*

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><p><em><em>**~Chapter 16: Roses, Notes, and Impending Doom**

_**Adler**_

The hotel room opened and shut swiftly, locking.

"Good lord Irene…"

I turned around from where I was buttoning the bodice of the gown I _procured_ to go see the opera in, jumping. Of course it was Sherlock was staring at my exposed shoulder, partially covered with the gauze wrap he had put it in. The gaze he was delivering seemed slightly more worried than before.

After moving my hand off the revolver in my robe's pocket, I turned back around, "It doesn't hurt as much as before," I blatantly lied, shrugging. He still continued advancing, so I turned my shoulder away from easy reach, "Besides, the dress I chose will show the bandage if I left it on."

Sherlock paused and tipped his head slightly to the side, "It's not my arm or shoulder muscle, I suppose. If it were, though, I would very much hate to have it removed because of plain arrogance, vanity, or stupidity."

"It's healing, _Mr. Holmes._"

"I wouldn't be quite so positive."

"How about those injuries you suffered then, hmm?"

"I would hardly call them injuries, my dear."

"You were running about without any way to contact me in case of an urgent situation."

"Running around, oh?"

"Seems so. You're allowed to leave this place unaccompanied why?"

"I didn't leave," he began to untie his striped scarf, previously owned by the Doctor no doubt, and made his way to the far window. The quiet sounds he made signified his movements in the careful manner he usually upheld—well save for when he had previously experimented on himself. "I was only just outside the entrance; so to say I wasn't close enough in case of any urgent—"

"What were you doing, then?" I asked sarcastically, tentatively beginning to unwind the bandages around my shoulder.

He eyed this motion, for I could feel his stare on my neck. He quietly murmured, "Making a purchase…"

I gave a quiet chuckle and turned to face him. It would be false to say that the sight before me was rather surprising.

Sherlock was standing rather stiffly, a simple bouquet of a dozen roses within his arms. They appeared to be quite fresh, full with vibrant rouge petals; delicate and poised. The twelve flowers were wrapped in crinkled brown paper, tied secure with pearl colored ribbon. The roses were somehow unlike the many I received before… _why?_

But I wasn't exactly looking at the roses so much as I gazed at the man holding them. Just as he did, I took note of every small detail I could whist he waited for me to show a reaction of some sort. It didn't take me long to reach a notable decision: While his raven black hair was neatly combed back and his neck tie, jacket and waist coat were ironed to a respectable fashion, I had never seen a man so messy.

In his eyes was a strange expression as if he was fighting or desperately trying to hold onto something. He seemed rather lost and confused somehow too, but whilst he looked quite uncertain and rather uncomfortable, there was an also a tender sort of feel to his stare. It was all within his eyes, the small gateway to the human part of him, for the rest of him was the same as always—at least from the outside. Though the more I thought about it, there was something rather new about him. Only a year ago when asked to run away with me, he replied with never. Yet here we were, running away literally, him with a dozen roses in his hands.

After a forced cough into his fist, Sherlock finally broke the settled quiet, "If you don't like them I could always return them…" He trailed off into inaudibility.

"No, I'm keeping them," I shifted before taking a step forwards and grasping the roses. Before I drew back however, I gave him a long peck on the lips. "You know," As I lifted the roses to my nose I took a deep breath of the bouquet with a large grin across my lips. "Roses always were my favorite."

He straightened up slightly and gave a smile, "You had them in our room and upon my visit to your residence upon the Bohemian Scandal case, so I thought it only fitting. Red roses are what the audience throws to performers, correct?"

"Normally, if they aren't being pelted by food for a bad performance," I snickered, setting the flowers down. "You do know that they also symbolize passionate love?"

Since I wasn't facing Sherlock at the moment I couldn't quite catch his response to this, for he did not vocalize anything. I simply only guessed he was shifting around uncomfortably as usual. So with a smirk I continued to dress into the beautiful nearly black lilac gown with black lace upon the bottom hem and off the shoulder sleeves. As I stepped into the pool of fabric and began to shimmy it up, warm hands touched my shoulder.

"Need help?" Sherlock's warm breath danced upon the back of my neck. He took the back of my dress from my hands and carefully maneuvered it so that it wouldn't hurt my un-bandaged shoulder. I sighed, though allowed him to tie up the gown which he did tight enough so that it looked quite fitted but not as tight that it would cause me trouble breathing.

I lifted my curls out of the neck line and turned around, facing him. He had his "my-god-Irene"look about him, but I lifted a hand to pull him by his shirt collar down closer to my face. He complied almost immediately though.

We kissed passionately, communicating in some strange way that we both didn't understand. It wasn't competitive though, like in some of our other encounters; it was simply the need for each other. Though this different drive was new, it was compelling enough to pull me from my surrounding for over a minute.

The grandfather clock chimed seven o'clock.

Sherlock broke away first speaking slightly breathless, "It starts at eight?"

"Right," I nodded and pulled out of his embrace. After grabbing a pouch of my hairpins and make up I began to make my way to the woman's parlor, "I'm going to finish up, so you'd better be presentable in thirty minutes."

"Or else?" He called from across the room.

"I brought handcuffs!" I responded as I entered the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

The small space was similar to my room at the grand with golden striped wall paper, though the parlor was much smaller and only contained a vanity and a stool. I made my way to the seat, hiking up my skirt with one hand. Humming the Habanera from the first act I sat down and began to open the pouch of metal hairpins I had stolen from Mrs. Hudson. After removing the brush, I looked up into the mirror poised to attack any tangles within my hair. And then I saw it.

A small ivory envelope sat on the mirror, one corner tucked into the metal itself. A red was seal was on the corner… the stamp marking an _M_.

The brush fell out of my hand and landed on the wooden floor with a loud clatter. The candles flickered.

I stood up briskly, turning to look if anyone was behind me. _Of course there's no one behind you, fool. The door would've opened! _But my mind only responded, _well how did he get the note in here in the first place? Tell Sherlock! _No not if it was about the same contents of the note. _Make a decision based on what the letter says then! _

I reached for it with a shaking hand, unable to decide if I should read it. In the end however I just snatched it from where it sat. The red wax peeled off with much difficulty, meaning he had recently written the message. What did it matter though?

After sliding the piece of parchment from the envelope, I let it fall to the floor. With a deep breath I began to unfold it.

_Dear Ms. Adler,_

_Are you enjoying Paris? I always loved the city; the food, the music, the opera… I thought it would be only polite if you and I had un petit bavarder about that last task you owed me_. _I believe you have plans for Bizet's Carmen at eight o'clock tonight? How lovely, for I believe I'm going by the same way this evening. You are to meet me at seven forty-five at the fifth alley to the left of the Palais Garnier, near the butchery. If you chose to not accept my invitation, I have a bomb planted in the room below yours, gun men who could easily hit you by the windows, and other assistants of mine by every exit to the entire building. Judging by how close you and the detective were at the park, I assume he doesn't know what you were sent to do, so I don't believe you want to tell him. If you do, we still have those gun men to worry about. And don't even hope that I won't hear if you do, you have ten personal escorts where ever you go. _

_Looking forward to seeing you once again,_

_The Professor_

"Irene?" Sherlock's voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door, making me jump. "Is something the matter? I heard the brush drop."

I attempted to respond but I found my throat too constricted. "I-I'm fine, yes!"

Still quivering I slumped back onto the stool, fists clenched so that the knuckles turned white.

* * *

><p>"Dear," I turned to Sherlock in the red cushioned seat of the Palais Garnier Paris Opera house. We were seated in a box to the left of the amazingly detailed stage, everything around us seemingly painted in gold. I might've even noticed that Watson and Mary were seated beneath us or that the orchestra was beginning to tune up, but I was plagued by the thunderous pulsing in my ear. It was the reminder, the warning. "Would you pardon me for a bit? I'll be right back before they begin."<p>

Sherlock paused in his attempt to use my hand mirror in a way that would make it easy to see the box below us. He looked at me peculiarly, "Now of all times? If anything happens you won't be close enough—"

"If the opera begins before I come back, go look for me," I hissed, my voice dropping into the quietest whisper I could manage. I felt panic rise up in my throat. _You're going to be late; Moriarty hates those who aren't there when he calls them! _

"I'd be too late." He responded, searching my face. His hand lifted to grasp my own, "If you're feeling sick we can go back to the room if we must… What aren't you tell me, Irene?"

_Why can't you be brilliant right now? _ I cursed his unknowingness, frantically giving a glance to the audience that could contain killers.

I shook my head and pulled away, still keeping my mask of normality. Then with a perfect exasperated look I stood up, "Can't a woman have a moment to herself?" I ignored the questioning glances of the others in our box and began to walk to the exit.

Sherlock's hand caught my wrist. "Why don't you trust me?"

I paused, resisting the urge to look into his chestnut eyes. For in those eyes I wouldn't find comfort, but questioning; questioning to which I had no response to. No words came to my lips or my mind. What could I say as to not give away anything, yet make him let me go? Moriarty was going to kill me, and yet I couldn't say anything to prevent it without having both of us killed.

Without turning back I murmured, "Because I don't trust myself."

I slid my gloved hand from his and walked to the red curtain at the back of the box leading to the hallway of the theatre.

After that, the world flew by as I nearly dashed to get out of the opera house. Guilt plagued me as I rushed past blurs of golden statues, maroon velvet curtains, richly clad men and women and finely polished marble.

However, once I managed to break free into the open air and away from the candles giving light to the night fallen Paris, I was flung into the intimidating world of night. The chilling air penetrated my jacket and shadows seemed to reach out to swallow me. My sight was set forwards, though, as I counted to the _third… forth…_ fifth alley.

As I stood before the opening of the brick walls, I tried to recompose my breathing. My heart wouldn't stop racing, no matter how many tricks I used. Sticky sweat clung to my face, giving away my exhaustion and terror, though I ignored it. Straightening up, I made my way into the black shadows, biting my lower lip as hard as I could.

Footsteps… Yes, I thought those were footsteps. Were they rats? No there seemed to be no one in the alley way, but it was too dark to be sure. _Stay calm, don't think too hard._

A sudden crack and flash of light sent a shock of raw adrenaline through my body. It took me a second to realize that it was really a match being struck, though still I had trouble standing. The small pool of light was nearly two foot away from me, revealing the face of a man of whom I never would've wanted to see ever again.

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><p><strong>I don't want to torture you anymore than you already are, so the next chapter should come out a lot quicker than this one. But I do have a good excuse this time: I broke my thumb! Yes I can type, but the whole night in the ER, school work to catch up on, etc. Now I'm on break, so I'll have whole days to write! <strong>

**And since I'm feeling especially nice, this marks the beginning of the climax! So here are some hints as to what will come: Torture. Mental torture? Physical torture? Metaphorical torture? Literal torture? I will let you dwell upon that word. Yes, I'm evil. **

**Any who, thank you to all who reviewed and added this story to their favorites or alert list. As you know, all review responses shall be done by PM. See you next time! **

***(And because I love this movie and sequence, I shall use a quote from it. Search it on You Tube if you haven't seen this)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's note: I'm quite proud at how early I was able to get this chapter finnished. (I'm on break) Any who, I wanted to try a new type of writing where everythings split up between the two POV's as an experiment. If the majority don't like it, I can switch it to two POV's for the whole chapter, because they connect easily. Though, I actually wrote them in this fashion.**

**I'll stop babbling. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>~Chapter 17: Notes, Professors, and Shadows of Betrayal <strong>

_**Holmes**_

The Yard and Watson have both said I'm horrible at waiting. This, however, is a false statement. They simply wait for the wrong moments or signs, which is partially why I'm always several steps ahead. I don't become rash and simply bolt off; I know what to look for and my time limits and then act when called for using this knowledge. However, this moment was an exception.

Irene was frightened, obviously, and when she was in fear of anything it meant that the object of caution was well something to be wary of. She hid her fear particularly sloppily this time though, for she allowed her fingers to tap against her leg quickly and for her lips twitch every so often. Also her eyes roamed the audience quite closely, as if she was looking for someone. Combined with the fact that she didn't move from the edge of her seat also showed that she was aware of some great danger. The question was, though, was she leaving to escape the danger or to get closer to it? Either way, that meant I was in just as much jeopardy as she, so I decided watching my actions was a smart idea.

Whoever or whatever was arranging this plot was sure enough posing a large enough threat to keep her from telling me. Would she tell me? Of course, look at what we've been through; I tried to reason though I quite well knew that my reasoning was hollow. Thinking of such things was stupid. I would simply just look to see if there were any suspicious looking folk in the crowd.

I sighed and leant on the gold carvings, taping my foot impatiently. There were so many little details upon each person that when I tried to analyze so many quickly, I felt as if I was being hit by a wave of overpowering information. From above I could easily watch the tops of Mary and Watson's heads, casually talking to each other as if I wasn't watching them from above. Perhaps I could tell them, and get assistance… No, risking their safety was too rash and the level of danger isn't guaranteed.

"Damn that woman," I muttered into the sleeve of my jacket, "Damn the conductor for being late, damn the third violinist for snapping a string."

Following Irene's brief instructions was seemingly more and more pointless, but with nothing other to rely on and with no other knowledge than an unknown threat, it seemed the only thing to do.

Then I remembered the note in my pocket.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Adler<strong>_

Moriarty simply stared at me for a long moment, head and shoulders the only parts of him visible in the match light as if he was some foul conjuration of my mind. I dearly wished that be true, but I wasn't hardly naïve enough to believe it. However, it was somewhat surreal to see his face after two weeks of desperate hiding. The absolute terror that travelled through my blood was enough to overpower the unrealistic quality, for nightmares never felt as frightening.

The man analyzed me for a moment, face looking oh too delighted as he read everything by just my face. I felt naked to him, vulnerable with nothing to shield myself with. When Sherlock inspected me for clues to what I was thinking it was always as if I could block him from the things I wished I could hide. Moriarty seemed to be able to see through all my defenses, even as I used every ounce of my acting abilities. All I could do was return his gaze; staring and trying to keep myself from quivering too noticeably. _Keep your face as neutral as possible, keep your mind empty. Don't let him feel as if he has already won._

"No greeting for your employer?" Moriarty asked at last, the orange light of the small flame eerily revealing his crooked teeth. "I must say it's been quite entertaining to see you and Mr. Holmes run—a stupid decision though. With eyes and ears all over Europe I would've caught up to you… Well at least you didn't lose all your sense, yet. I'm sure you realized coming quietly was a wiser decision, and far less complicated?"

I thought hard about how I should answer, concentrating on my breathing at the same time. "I don't work for you anymore," I managed to get out, voice stiff.

Moriarty shook his head, still smirking with his eyes glued to me, "You didn't finish the final task, my dear."

Footsteps clicked behind me, echoing off the brick walls surrounding me in front and on the sides of me.

"I thought I made it quite clear—" I started.

"For a woman so smart in most cases, you're coming off quite stupid Ms. Adler." Moriarty looked down, letting the comment sink in. Though with the sound of a quiet click, I realized he was loading a revolver. "I made the rules quite clear and easy to follow, I did. So why is it that you can't do as you're instructed?"

The footsteps were closer. My heart beat raced through my body as I was overcome with the urge to run. I was a caged animal, being watched by hungry foxes.

"Yesterday evening was the deadline, you realize."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

The small envelope, so easy within reach, most probably able to answer all of my questions, sat in my hands. If I was to simply re-break the red wax seal and peer inside, I would know if running to the halls of the opera house was necessary or not. It could guarantee that this whole plot involved Moriarty, tell me the location of which Irene ran.

_She didn't truly think I would stick to my word, did she? On her part, she's hardly ever kept her own. Perhaps a small broken promise could save her life_. I allowed my finger to glide across the crumpled paper, fighting to lift up the small triangle. If I never told her, how would she know…?

The orchestra began to play the overture, sending my back straight up. I quickly got up on my feet, and briefly apologized to the patron and governess sitting next to me. Then, tucking the note back into my breast pocket, I speedily went past the door to the box into the hall.

"Now… Where to look…" I murmured to myself.

My search grazed the gold painted walls for signs of hand marks, though then I turned down to look at the maroon carpet. Thank goodness Irene decided on wearing defined heels, for the indents they left in the material was heavier and longer than the ones other women had left. Several skid marks also were around where the corridor turned into a bend.

With the game afoot, I didn't hesitate at all to follow the marks in the same fashion; at a near sprint. After all, Irene Adler didn't near fly for no reason.

As I began to descend the grand staircase, three steps at a time, my hand instantly went to my trouser pocket. Professor James Moriarty was behind this, and if I had learned anything from the encounters I had experienced, being well armed was a necessity. While Irene normally was, I still couldn't help but feel the same worry I did for Watson. Time now also seemed to be my enemy, as well as concrete.

I pushed past the doorman, looking for the markings on the pathways that lead away from the opera house. It was nearly impossible to read out the nicks on the sidewalk in the dark. So with nothing else to follow on in a short amount of time, I turned to the uniformed doorman, looking questioningly at me, "Have you seen a woman lately? Running here, looking panicked?"

"Excuse me sir?" He responded dumbly.

_Curse their stupid, boring minds! _I turned on him without bothering to thank him, for he had done nothing.

I bent down to the sidewalk to get a better look. After a brief moment I found a small trail of marks to the left. And then I was off again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Adler<strong>_

"A business agreement is almost like a promise," Moriarty spoke, now beginning to stride around me in smooth, calm motions, each step making it clear who had the upper hand as if a small boast. I simply clenched my fists in silent prayer, waiting to hear if he should say my fate. "Except that it holds you to a signature, one of which I contain in my pocket. With the lifestyle you follow, Ms. Adler, I'm sure you're unfamiliar with what happens when one breaks their word and has to face the consequences."

_Sherlock should be coming by this time_, I tried to keep myself steady, though I was sure I turned paler. Suddenly I found myself asking the dreaded question circulating in my brain, "S-so... So you're going to kill me now?"

The footsteps finally stopped at the start of the alley, behind my vision. I could tell that they weren't the detective's from the rhythm prior.

The Professor paused behind me, though I could feel his stare upon the back of my neck. "I don't believe in wasting valuable resources- well if they're valuable to _me, _that is. Luckily, in your case, I had the foresight to see that you're feelings for Mr. Holmes wouldn't allow you to follow through. So I have made the proper arrangements for everything to happen in the way I intended without the original plan. But don't worry, you're still required. I'll arrange you're end eventually, once you have been used to your full potential, once you have suffered enough..."

_If he's going through with the original plan—my God, Sherlock! _I shivered slightly, the cold biting through my dress. My mind began to race so fast that I didn't see his hand reaching out to tap my shoulder. Though once it did, I nearly jumped.

His deep chuckle sounded at my back, "You're allowed to turn 'round."

Hesitant, I did as he said. I was met with another face I wished never to see again, though this time I never would've expected it at all.

"Godfrey?"

Godfrey Norton, my sixth and most recent divorce and not a bad looking man. The man I had married during my first encounter with Sherlock was the most prominent out of all the men I had been married to for his obliviousness to my doings behind his back, boringness, and horrible snoring. Though the face the man was wearing seemed uncharacteristically sinister, almost unnervingly different.

The man came closer, holding a lamp in one hand and a revolver in the other. "Irene... Irene, Irene... Never thought you'd see me again after selling my ring?" His voice was filled with distaste and bitterness that seeped into the polite tone I had known him to carry. It only revealed how much he had most likely learned about my true life and how corrupted Moriarty had made him become.

"It was very enjoyable, Ms. Adler." The Professor tipped the brim of his top hat with the barrel of his gun, now lit with the light of Godfrey's lamp. He brushed past Godfrey and towards the opening of the alley as a cab drove up to meet him. Though before he completely turned away, he turned back in farewell, "Until next time, I'm sure. And keep in mind this: I haven't even begun to set my work in motion yet."

Then he simply left, boarding the carriage which quickly sped away. I was alone with Godfrey who still appeared to be simmering with hate… and holding a revolver.

"You liar." He spat at me, pointing the revolver in my direction as he approached, "Oh you filthy scum of a woman, you tricked me well. I know 'bout all six husbands of yours, the detective, everythin' you've stolen."

"What on earth are you doing here?" With Moriarty gone, I took no hesitation in pulling my own gun from within the concealed pocket in my gown. I wasn't sure, however, if his works were still in motion around me. So I restrained myself from running up and knocking the man out.

The man started, "You're employer-"

"I don't work for him anymore…" I replied angrily, feeling the tenseness in the air. Something was off; though what it was I couldn't tell. _Sherlock, you better come here now…_

"Well he was kind enough to explain to me who you really were." As Godfrey continued to approach, I stood my ground, though I began to notice two others beginning to stand at the entrance to the alley. "Several days later, I received a note from him offering a chance at revenge; I was only too 'appy to accept."

Finally my divorce was standing right in front of me, only a foot or so apart. He appeared to be savoring my expression of uncertainty. Then with a tiny leap forward, he aimed to whack the revolver out of my hand. I easily was able to pull my hand away so that he would miss. However, Godfrey was able to catch the wrist of my empty hand. With a surprisingly tight grip, he held my arm up in front of me and shoved my body into the brick wall of the alley.

I put my revolver to the side of his head, now considerably annoyed. True, he was no criminal, but I decided that if he didn't stop in several moments, I would no longer hold back. "Get off of me, or I promise you I'll shoot..."

He leaned in, breath smelling of alcohol, "I wouldn't make a promise such as tha'."

_He always couldn't hold his wine_, I mused, pushing away from him. He persisted, but I solved that with a kick to his shin. Then, gathering my skirts in one hand, I fired a warning shot. Godfrey stumbled away, and I ran as fast as I could to the opening to the street. Though as soon as I looked up from my footing, I saw the two coming towards me with purposeful strides.

I cursed under my breath, bringing up my revolver once again. As I prepared to fire the first string of shots, one of the men went for the revolver. This time I dodged fully, but his companion saw this, and went to grab my left shoulder. His hand merely skimmed my skin, but it began to burn once again. I faltered in my running for only a second, and yet this second gave the first man to deliver a punch to my gut.

I doubled over, though attempted to punch him in return. My revolver was knocked to the ground and both of my arms were forced behind my back as I was dragged back into the shadows.

"He's coming," One of the men said. He was correct, for the familiar pattern of Sherlock running fell lightly towards the opening of the alley. Everyone took this as a hint to hurry up.

I was placed back against the wall, Godfrey putting his gun to the back of my neck. He gestured to the two men, "Now, these two chaps will depart in several moments, but their guns will be directed at the next consultant detective who walks, well rather runs down the street. My revolver will be directed at you, just to avoid any mishaps."

I stared daggers at him, though kept my mouth shut. _Hurry up Sherlock!_

"I must admit, I rather missed you..." A drunk Godfrey leaned in towards my face, eyes closed though face still appearing sinister.

Upon instinct, I pulled away roughly, "What the—"

Footsteps. He was coming, almost here.

"Listen," he whispered loudly, pushing me harder into the rough brick behind me. "You better act like you're quite 'appy about this, or they shoot."

And then his lips crashed into my own.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

I could hear the scuffling of people moving quickly, though trying to hide that they were indeed somewhere. It had to be this alley, the one near the butcher. It was only seven meters away… _Don't be dead Irene; you're too bloody brilliant to let him kill you so easily… _

My feet finally took me to the proper alleyway, of which I turned quickly to peer inside. My revolver was loaded, ready to be pulled at a moment's notice. There was still movement inside the alley, meaning that I wasn't too late. There was still time. _Don't get too hopeful though…_

I took several long strides inside. And then I saw the last thing of which I thought I would.

"…Irene?"

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><p><strong>Again, did you like the split POV writing? Was it annoying to readlook at? What do you think will happen next? Questions, comments and ****criticism****are most welcome. Just press the button bellow please!**

**Thank you to all the reviewers, new and regulars. All responses are done through PM. Until next time, when we are sure to see more Moriarty...**


	18. Chapter 18

_We all make sacrifices everyday; eating the salad instead of the hamburger, buying the cheaper shorts to save up for your friends present, the like. But it's not until you risk your neck for someone else's that you'll ever be hailed as a hero. It's not until you risk your neck for someone else's that you'll know how much you love them._

_~Yours Truly_

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><p><strong>~Chapter 18: Notes, Lies and Blindfolds<strong>

_**Holmes**_

"…Why?"

I turned away, but that helped nothing. I silently ran a couple blocks away, but that image—Irene's back up against the wall as she passionately kissed that man, clothed in shadow… She was kissing him like she did to me. Irene, _the _woman, Ms. Adler, Moriarty's employer, divorcee…

_There was a change in her! _My mind nearly roared even as my face remained unreadable. I tried to turn back to make sure my eyes didn't fool me though instantly I turned to face in the opposite direction. _That moment in the park; she was honest! She meant every word she said, it was in her eyes! What a fool you must of looked, buying her those roses when she already was searching for another husband! That's why she was hiding something, the envelope she brought along with her, though she tried to hide it. He must have called on her, or knew of our traveling to Paris. No, no, no! Analyze the situation, the details!_

I turned to my brain to begin to function, but nothing happened. When I tried to think clearly I fell into the argument of whether or not to tear out my own heart or hers. It was only a blur of bloody emotion; shades of red rage and crumpled hurt, all things too alien. I needed logic! I couldn't function without reason, and yet I couldn't find it even when I called upon it. Why couldn't I draw it up?

_Irene Adler bested you three times now! Oh she tricked you good, tricked you fantastically well! That actress… but the worst part is that you (and you call yourself a detective?) fell for it! _I immediately thought, having a strong urge to run back to Watson and Mary.

I clenched my fists and began to walk in a circle. _No, no, no… This is getting you nowhere! Calm down you idiotic fool. Calm down and don't jump to conclusions, wait a minute before completely losing control of yourself. You don't know for sure if that indeed was forced upon her in anyway, or why she was so frightened earlier. Remember, you still hold the envelope, the note._

My hand temporarily loosened up and thrust into my pocket. I felt the somewhat soggy parchment between my thumb and index finger and drew it out. It briefly stayed in my hand so that I could take a moment to look at it. I hardly even thought about if it was the right think or not. Irene needed to do some explaining, though since she was _occupied_ at the moment, she left me with no other choice.

I ripped the envelope the parchment was sealed in, even though the red wax was already opened. There was some small pleasure in seeing something getting torn apart, and no one was there to tell me I couldn't do it. The crumpled and ripped pieces floated towards the side walk, thick snowflakes beginning to fall from the sky. Now nothing was stopping me from reading it, and I wasn't going to put it away now. So with slightly trembling hands, I unfolded the parchment.

'Dear Ms. Adler,

I require you to do one last thing for me before I will allow you to flee from my employment. If you do not do this by February the 23rd, you will be dead. Bring the detective to one of these addresses by that time. I will know where you two travel, so I will wait at whichever one is in that country. Until then, I will send several of my men to check upon your progress.

Sincerely,

The Professor '

I read through the addresses with no emotion. Sure enough, there was one in Paris.

_It was _all _a lie_; _every last bit of it. She only stayed to deliver you to gain her freedom and her safety. Irene was scared for her life because she missed the deadline in order to make me truly believe. And now she was going to be killed_, my logic suddenly returned to draw out the answer. I was beginning to wonder why I was searching for it in the first place, for it had plainly stated the obvious. To explain the kissing, my brain reasoned, _Irene could have possibly been intercepted by her husband, or something of the sort, on the way to Moriarty. _

I stumbled back to lean on the brick, wet snow managing to find its way down my jacket collar.I buried my head in my hands. Shouldn't I feel much more distraught? After all, I had formed human attachment; love. It was a force that propelled so many men I caught. Perhaps it would have hurt if I was what Watson called "human" or what Mrs. Hudson called "normal". Maybe if I hadn't expected something similar in the works until a day and an afternoon ago. Though, something ached inside of me, not physically but in a way that I couldn't grasp. As if a nearly recovered wound was simply scraped to how it was in the beginning: empty.

Even if it was simply an act; a cruel, merciless act upon an emotionally handicapped man, it was my job to appear to be a hero. If indeed she was going to be killed for not taking me to Moriarty, he may not if I were to show up. After all, I was due a meeting with the professor and I didn't want to see her dead at all. _She probably doesn't care that you're saving her life at all, it's pointless. You've seen what The Professor is capable of—meeting him is almost suicidal._

Somehow, I managed to stand up. Scuffles echoed from down the sidewalk to where I knew Irene to be.

"Argh! Woman!" I cursed, whispering. _How could she! Irene—she… she loved _me_. I-I… No!_

I tried to call back upon reason, turning away from her direction. After examining the address once again, I noted that the location was close by. So, tuning out all emotion that swept through my blood, I turned off in the direction of where the building was located. Every foot step became less of my doing and more of a robotic movement that kept me from turning back; returning to where I knew comfort lied with Watson, returning to where I knew I could find answers with Irene.

When I arrived at the doorsteps to the compact townhouse I barely could tell that I had walked much. It never occurred to me that the snow began to pile up, or that it was nearly pitch black. The townhouse itself was quite plain looking from the outside, worn brick walls, black shutters, and a tall red door. It was quite obviously not an upper class home, or at least it was. There was no telling what had been done inside by a certain James Moriarty. But now it seemed I was to find out.

_Irene; she—_

I blocked out my thoughts once again, raising an arm to knock on the peeling paint. I seemed to have forgotten that I was knocking on the door of the man who had manipulated Lord Blackwood and terrified Irene so much. Otherwise, I would have held my revolver out. Perhaps I thought him to be more of the gentlemanly type, for he was indeed a professor in his spare time. And as _the woman _said, he was almost my equal; therefore he would see that violence wasn't called for upon a first meeting.

The door merely just opened, swinging back with the force I used to push it. Inside was even darker than out on the street, but I was glad to leave behind the ice seeping water into my clothes and skin. So with my hand on the freezing rail, I went up the three steps and stepped inside.

"You can spare the lady," I spoke to the black space around me, voice cracking from the cold. "I'm here, as you wanted me. No need to have to worry about bodies lying around."

There was no response.

"Oh, come now, professor! We need a proper greeting to one another if we are indeed to be called equals. I wish to see the face of my opponent." I leaned on the piece of wall next to the door, hand searching for a lamp or a match. I found neither on the small table or empty umbrella stand, both next to me.

_Perhaps you've gotten the wrong house; _I thought for a moment, _He might've already left, too._ Though, I knew this to be false. He obviously was in there somewhere, all the signs pointed towards it: The slight trail of dust where someone recently moved the carpet and the clutter of items on the side table I recently examined were all pushed there not a day ago. I admitted he had hid his being there extremely well, though a visitor or two ruined it.

I turned for the door, feeling the strong urge to turn around just to make sure. As my freezing hand left the comfort of my pocket, I instantly felt as if this was the wrong move. And I was right.

Something heavy collided with my skull.

All went to darkness.

* * *

><p>When I found myself conscious I was aware of many things. First of all, there was partially dried blood along the side of my head, some still dripping down my forehead meaning that I hadn't been out for that long. I was tied professionally, hands bound behind my back and ankles linked together with fine but tight cord. This meant that my attacker had aid, thus having plenty of resources, allies, and money. Also, a blind fold covered my eyes; thick black material, perhaps the sleeve of my jacket. I was not gagged however, which translated that I was underground (though I didn't believe this theory for it was beyond freezing), very hidden, or desired to be talked to. The last was the most probable.<p>

_So much for being a proper gentle man… _I thought sarcastically, mind already spinning to try to think of an idea of escape. Though, quickly I became distracted, for my hearing began to return. I was soon able to pick up out water dripping onto concrete and distant footsteps from above.

As I waited somewhat patiently, I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. My left leg tingled severely from lack of blood flow, for I had been sitting upon it, and my neck ached from falling into such an unnatural position. Though worst of all was my forehead, which pulsed steadily with burning persistence. I began to wonder if the injury was that serious, though it was impossible to tell with my eyes covered.

The footsteps came down a set of stair behind me and to the left. The shoes the men were wearing were well made, meaning the fellows were quite well off. I could tell this from the way they creaked the wooden stairs.

A door creaked open, hinges screaming painfully. I stiffened lightly at the sound, waiting for someone to speak of make contact to me. I realized quickly, however, after more footsteps made their way around me that they had no intention to acknowledge my being there. Instead the three sets of feet made their selves busy moving about a chair and arranging something else, though I couldn't tell if this was a good thing or not. It was not as if I could do anything at the moment anyhow.

"He's awake, idiot."

"Got to make sure, don't we?"

I decided to remain silent, after all, I found you learned more about the situation if you didn't interfere.

After a couple drawn out moments of pushing about the squeaking chair (made of aged wood with the rusted screws beginning to loosen up), two sets of footsteps approached me. I straightened up just in for one to slap me across the face. My head turned sharply, tingling with the same burning sensation on my brow. They didn't leave me much time to recover before both, on each side of me, grabbed my arms, hauling me to my feet.

Blood rushed to my head, sending me rocking backwards with my limited vision spinning. Both the gentlemen, being quite strong and I being quite light, simply just dragged my feet across the pavement for my bound feet couldn't barely move enough to walk.

Thirteen paces later, I was hoisted up quite I high distance from the ground, three or more feet. My legs flailed in all directions for a moment before I landed upon the chair, which I then noticed was a stool. _This is rather odd…_

Suddenly I was grasped by the shoulder. I wobbled precariously, thrown off by the sudden movement. Though as soon as I had gained my balance, something was roughly fitted around my head to slide down to my neck. Soon I realized that the circlet was made of rope, bringing me to the obvious.

It was a noose.

_No! No, no, no… they can't kill me now! Well true: it's much easier and quicker to get me out of the way but, Watson—He doesn't even know that I'm in Paris, much less where I put Gladstone when Irene and I left. But him and Mary… And then there was the woman. Stop! Don't bloody think about her! …No they wouldn't kill me off this early in the game—_

"It w-wouldn't be any fun," I barely managed to get the words to form from my throat. My mouth and lips were extremely parched making it just painful to speak. Though I could tell that it definitely caught their attention, so I graced them with a continuation of the sentence, "I mean there isn't much delight in simply sending a man to his maker right at the start? Where's the entertainment in that? After all, I assume, _Moriarty_—yes, I know you're watching me right now—that you'd be quite bored without someone equal to constantly fight. Without someone to constantly try to outwit, life is quite blasé, don't you agree?"

I waited with ears quite keen to hear the Professors answer. All I received in return was the sounds of fabric rustling as the two men helping him waited.

Then I was shoved forwards, feet leaving the wobbly support of stool, body plummeting without giving me time for a final thought.

* * *

><p><strong>Now before you click that review box to flame me saying, "WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU KILL SHERLOCK HOLMES? (insert stream of curse words here)" I'd like you to please calm down. I will not reveal anything, but think about this: In every Sherlock Holmes movie, is everything as it seems? Ah! Now I bet you're thinking, "Oh he lives, duh!" Again, I will not admit anything! But let's think now, "How on earth could he survive this? Well certainly not the Lord Blackwood way, this was genuine! No harness!" etc. Well to survive this is impossible! <strong>

**And if you'd like to know, I got my degree from the Evil Writers Academy. It is my duty to keep you guessing. **

**Thank you all for reviewing/adding this to your favorites or alert list. : )**

**You know you want to press it! **

**And if you do, I promise a 100 word preview of Irene Adler's situation.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Here it comes, the moment I've been waiting for. Be warned, two curse words are used, but this is rated T so I'm allowed to! Enjoy... Mwahahaha...**

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><p><strong>~Chapter 19: Revolvers and Choices to Come~<strong>

_**Adler**_

He was watching me.

_Keep up the act, don't falter_… My mind spoke rushed words repeatedly, trying to keep me from thinking too much about his wounded chestnut eyes. _Don't break character, don't falter…_

As soon as I heard the nimble footsteps of Sherlock's echo back to the direction of which they came, a strange feeling began to overtake me. My faith in the detective's brilliance in the situation was failing, leaving every other emotion to attack. A rush of guilt hit me first, breaking me as if I had run into a wall. It was somewhat foreign to me, though not unheard of, still stinging with horrible venom. _You should've told him! _

Though I didn't have long to soak up the sensation for panic began to overtake me, knowing that Moriarty was going to do something involving all of this. The fact that Norton began to be more forceful didn't help the situation either.

I attempted to push away from him, now that Sherlock had gone off, only succeeding in breaking his disgustingly lustful kiss. "Cut the act Godfrey! He's left!" I said, with little breath in my lungs.

"I don't believe you're in the right situation to be making demands…" He whispered in my ear, going in for another peck.

Rage filled my blood, adrenaline propelling me forwards. My former husband had now turned into a full on nuisance, and I was not one to be meddled with at the moment. He was standing in my way now, and I was to continue on; running over him if necessary. As I thought about it a bit more, I decided I wouldn't even need the situation to be necessary, for now running Godfrey over sounded much too delightful…

With the fire of anger, I slipped my leg from where the man pinned up against the wall. I lifted my knee mercilessly without the bat of an eye and took no time escaping from his grasp. Within seconds, I delivered a punch to his gut and a swift kick to his shin. Then as he doubled over, I stole the gun from his fists and knocked him to the ground. _This is what you get for interfering with me!_

"I-Irene, my lord… Irene y-you—" The drunk flipped to his back, desperately trying to back into the alley corner for protection. It was almost pitiful, almost.

I held the gun steadily, quite ready to shoot. "Are you glad you came to extract 'your revenge'? I hope you realized it was quite a stupid idea by now…" I took a couple steps forwards, glad to see the fear in his eyes and the trembling of his body (though, granted it could have been from the snow). He nearly jumped out of his skin when I pressed the revolver to his throat, "And now you know how I feel, sweetie. Now, the question: Should I kill you?"

"Come on, my beautiful Irene! Oh, Mrs. Norton, you wouldn't do this to your devoted husband would ya?" Godfrey said, slightly slurring in his speech. "The Professor, Moran, his men; Just because your detective ran off doesn't mean they won't kill 'im for this! Eva' thought of that?"

_No you haven't thought of that… No, no, no don't think like that. Just get the annoying bastard out of your way, and even then you won't become the slightest bit infected with emotion. That never helps anything, anyhow. _

"What's wrong with ya?" Godfrey jeered, "Lost your nerve, now Mrs. Norton? I thought—"

I fired without hesitation.

"You thought wrong, quite wrong. I never lose my nerve."

The man's whole body gave a giant flinch, becoming absolutely rigid. Though then seconds later it seemed to loosen up with a heavy sigh. Even in the dark I noticed the dark spot pooling in the fabric of the coat he wore. For only several moments more he twitched, eyes rolling up into his head.

I stood absolutely still, save for glancing over my shoulder to see if any of the men who were watching Sherlock were coming. Though it seemed as if they had left, or decided I was no longer interesting.

As soon as Godfrey's body was motionless, I kneeled down and removed his jacket from his body and put it on, even if it was slightly bloodstained. In truth I was freezing, and it would have to do. Likewise, I continued to dig through his pockets with expert experience. Soon I was several thousand's richer with another revolver to add to my collection. I was so absorbed in my thoughts about Sherlock and killing my ex-husband that I barely heard the nearing footsteps.

"…Ms. Adler?"

My head shot up at the sound of the familiar voice. I raised my head just in time to see the fast approaching silhouette of a man. I nearly pulled free my gun to fire again, though as the person ran into a beam of light, I realized the man was no other than Dr. John Watson.

"No, why would you be here in Paris? What are you doing here?" He asked out of breath, bending over with his hands on his knees. The Doctor gave a highly suspicious look to the dead Godfrey Norton, along with the revolver and wallet in my hands. Though it clicked quite fast as sudden realization filled his eyes. "Oh, no! No, no! You don't mean- Well of course… I should have known! He followed us! _Again_! I swear he has no clue where the line between caring and intrusive is drawn! And then he brings you along, and in your state! My lord, he better be prepared for a good punch in the face…"

I had to take a couple of quick steps to pause him from his intense pacing. He looked up, somewhat shaken as if just pulled from a dream. I noticed there was a strong sense of urgency in his eyes, simply quite worried in a panic.

I gave a dry chuckle, "Well of course he would follow you. I thought you'd be used to that by now."

"Whatever you say, Ms. Adler," Watson sighed. He motioned to the open street and began to walk into clearer light. I followed suit. "Where is the bloody idiot anyhow? I'm afraid I actually _need_ his assistance at the moment. I hope he didn't hear that; he already has a big enough ego."

"Agreed," I murmured, pulling Godfrey's overly-large coat. My thoughts went back to Sherlock's running off; _the good doctor has no need of the information. Best keep the small details quiet to avoid complications, thus finding him quicker and therefore explaining things enough... Surely he doesn't mind that I was kissing Norton. After all, I got married three times after we first met and shared the room at the Grand. He didn't mind, so why should he now? He's brilliant enough to figure out it was all forced._

I turned back to Watson, stuffing the gun into a pocket as well as the wallet. "I believe he ran back towards the opera house, so going that way would be the best chance. Wouldn't you have passed him on your way over here? Actually, why on earth would you come here at all? You were watching the opera with—"

"It doesn't matter; we just need to find Holmes, quickly. Besides, I _should_ ask you what you were doing here pocketing that dead man's money, but I don't think I wish to know." He dismissed my question, returning back to his frantic state, "Do you have another revolver?"

I gave him a stern glance, not particularly glad to have my question unanswered. Though since I desperately needed to find Sherlock as well, I complied in order to spare wasting more time. So swiftly I thrust my hand into a pocket within my dress, handing Watson a fully loaded revolver along with several more bullets. "What situation would require you to bring a gun to _Carmen_?"

"You'll see, don't worry," He assured me grimly before beginning to run with quickened pace back up the street to the glowing opera house in the distance.

Still annoyed, though motivated all the same, I hiked up my dress to allow my legs enough room to stride long in order to catch up to the doctor.

As I ran, I noticed that while I was running to meet Moriarty I was traveling with the frigid air. Now I was battling it. The frozen wind tore across my face, mercilessly flinging snowflakes into my mouth and eyes. It bit my nose fiercely and howled like a maddened wolf in my ears. Every part of me that wasn't covered with fabric felt as if it was on fire, yet cuttingly freezing all the same. It was a strange sensation that seemed to travel through my veins and slow me down.

_Sherlock— No, stop! _My mind began to become flooded with guilt once again, though I shoved it away. _Safety is much higher on the list than stupid emotions. Just keep running. Ignore the pain in your feet; ignore the bruises on your ribcage from the in alley. Don't stop running, keep following Watson…_

It seemed like hours before I returned to the main street, facing the Palais Garnier alit with gold spotlights upon the beautifully carved walls. Though I was instantly startled as the sight began to focus as I wiped the snow from my eyes.

Seemingly hundreds of upper-class French men and women were flooding out of the open doors of the opera house, police men desperately shouting words to get them to calm down. There was slight screaming, some seeming in hysterias. Upon the street in front of the large building more people clustered around a hospital carriage, several folk being carried to the cars motionless and covered in crimson. As I looked carefully, I noticed a small string of grey smoke emerging from the tops of the doors.

Watson and I were soon hit with the wall of chaos, people everywhere in sight. I kept myself standing, though it seemed as if the doctor was having a hard time in the crowd.

I turned to him, grasping his upper arms to make sure my point was proven. The gun in one hand helped support this. "John," leant in close to make sure my voice would get across, tone quite serious, "What happened?"

The deep worry in his eyes returned once again, spreading to his face. "There was a small explosion in box five, the one above Mary and I. Instantly the show was stopped and chaos broke out. We were running amongst the crowd when the men sitting next to us (of who appeared to be quite ordinary) dragged us out and… I put up a fight… oh…"

"Get to the point!" I urged him, slammed by a running couple. Though, as I looked into his eyes I realized the truth before he spit it out.

"They took Mary," He weakly answered.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

The cord around my neck was brutally strong, cutting of my breathing and circulation. I must've looked like a dying fish, for I thrashed about wildly, seeing if I could untie my wrists. Soon, however, my head became fogged, and my lungs burned with a raging fire screaming for air. I was terrified. There was nothing I could do, no puzzle I could solve to get me out of this. I was to die in seconds.

_If you really do exist Lord_, I thought briefly, body filling with panic, _Please watch over Watson and Mary… and Irene. I'm dearly sorry for putting a toad in Mrs. Hudson's tea before we left for Paris._

All I wanted was for it to end quickly, but the moment dragged on.

…And on.

Then suddenly I was met with moldy and moist concrete, tearing the skin of my cheek. I was stunned. _No, this isn't right, _I instantly thought, still feeling the blood loss in my head. The impact hurt greatly, but it far better than feeling as if my neck was about to be severed. _I shouldn't be alive, I shouldn't feel the concrete. I _am_ alive, right?_

I would have to be alive if I still was being choked, for the tightened noose was still around my neck. I tried desperately to somehow loosen it, making strained noises to the best of my abilities to see if anyone would help. I knew perfectly this was all in vain. _NEED AIR! _

Suddenly, though, to my surprise a hand grabbed the bit of rope around my neck to bring my head up. I would've cried out if there was still oxygen in my lungs, for now the rope dug into the front of my throat.

The pain only lasted for seconds, for I was then cut free.

I gasped hoarsely with a delirious need for air, choking and coughing all at the same time. Relief surged through my body as blood flow worked to function as it previously did. Still, it felt as if I couldn't get enough of the substance; air. Though I wouldn't let this slow me down. I would try to escape, even if I was hardly in the proper state.

So as to get my hands on the ground, I made an attempt to roll onto my back. Though as soon as I landed there a strong leather dress shoe landed on my diaphragm, knocking all the air out of me once again. Unwillingly, a cry escaped my parched lips.

"Sherlock Holmes."

The voice was hoarse with a somewhat cheerful lilt. It was almost_ familiar_.

As I went on gasping, the voice continued, "Welcome, welcome… I don't believe we've made formal acquaintance before, though you know my employee. In fact, you seem to know her quite well."

I only heard the man's voice just above the deafening pounding in my ears. However, I was quickly placing who the man was, the answer quite obvious: _This is the man… Professor Moriarty._

"Ah, you've just about placed who I am, after all you were trying to escape my grasp in the first place. Quite a folly idea, for my reach extends through all of Europe and beyond. Even now, I could have you, Ms. Adler, the Doctor, or his fiancé killed."

A gloved hand carefully lifted the blindfold off of my eyes, quite smooth in movement.

I opened my eyes to look up at a finely clothed man, looking as if he was watching the opera himself. He had bronze hair, furrowed eye brows and a finely trimmed beard and moustache. There was a trace of a chemical powder in his hair, meaning that he had recently been working on some sort of chemistry project. He had dark circles under his eyes, showing lack of sleep, and a slight tendency to bend over slightly, showing that he was accustomed to working hard and long hours bent over papers. This was supported by the tired look in his grey eyes, which likewise seemed to scan me as I did him.

A couple seconds passed in this fashion before the man removed his foot from my gut and offered a hand. I sat up, quite wary, and shook it.

"Professor James Moriarty, criminal mastermind," He gave a sly crooked grin, eyebrows raised.

I thought a moment before introducing myself likewise, trying to gather enough breathe to form words, "S-Sherlock Holmes, consultant de-detective."

Moriarty nodded to the two men at the other side of the cell, and they quickly came to grab my shoulders once again. This time I busied myself examining the cuff links on both men's shirts as I was dragged up to sit on the stool now. _The left one has to have worked with the Navy, due to the anchor-like pattern. The right one… perhaps a lawyer?_

"Now tell me, Mr. Holmes, do you know precisely why I nearly hung you?" He asked nonchalantly, pulling a pocket knife from his sleeve and examining it.

I was only too happy to explain, "Dominance. You wish to show that while we have been called equals by some, and thought by ourselves to be close to each other in our deduction abilities and skills that you are indeed the stronger one. You want to mess with my mind, make me question my reality; make me question, 'Am I truly in hell?' To show that while I'm kept here in this place you are my superior. Sadly though, I don't break that easily."

"Correct," he replied, distracted.

I was soon seated, and the lawyer and the sailor retreated back to the stair from which they came. Though I could still hear their footsteps busying themselves with another task. The Professor took a couple of steps towards the stool, hands clasped behind his back, "Now, with such a brilliant mind like your own I'm sure you know what it's like to be bored. Correct?"

"Quite," I responded carefully, not quite liking what the man was hinting at.

"As do I," Moriarty began to walk in circles around where I was placed, "which is why I have devised a little game to keep both of us quite interested. I hope you'll find it as fun as I, for it will prove quite useful to both of us as well; we'll see just what the other is capable of."

I kept my posture up, though gave a couple nervous glances to the other plain walls around me. The darkness and shadows, while clearer than when I first opened my eyes, seemed to be closing in. The shadows seemed to deepen, though that was probably only in my tired mind. "So then," I asked steadily, voice quiet, "What are the rules to this game?"

He gave a small chuckle, passing into the bit of the room more shadowed than the other. "I first wish to test your deduction skills. The rules are simple, I'll give you a problem and you'll have exactly sixty seconds to tell me the correct answer." His small, gold pocket watch caught the light of a lone candle to the corner of the room, "Then the next problem you'll have forty-five seconds, the next thirty, etc."

"And what if I am to answer correctly or incorrectly?" I asked in monotone, turning to find him in the dark.

Moriarty, now hidden in complete pitch-black, continued, "If you answer correctly, you may rest for two hours. If you are incorrect, you will get a choice… There is a hole in the wooden wall to your left; go to it."

I nodded hesitantly, barely able to get back onto my feet once again. Thought thankfully the hole in the wall, secured closed with a latch, was quite close to the stool. I stood before it, looking back to the darkness of which I knew Moriarty stood.

"There shall be a punishment dealt if you get the answer wrong. Your choice shall show me how moral you are. Either you shall receive the punishment or the person on the other side of the wall… You may now open the latch."

With trembling hands, I pulled the circular door open, fitting my eye up to the hole. It took several seconds before I was able to make out anything other than blackness. Soon my vision fixed itself upon a crouched figure in the center of the identical cell. In a collection of pooled fabric a woman lay. Not Irene for sure, for the woman's hair was a much lighter color. And then it struck me. _He'd never threaten you with a random person, no that would be too kind of him. _

My thoughts were proven true when the unconscious woman tilted her head slightly towards where I looked. To my horror, I found myself looking at the face of Mary Morstan.

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><p><strong>I betcha didn't see that coming! Were you shocked? Lol, ignore me. This was just too fun to write ;) Anyone catch the Phantom reference? Free cyber-cookie if you did! <strong>

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed/added this story to their lists. **

**Remeber, reviews motivate me to update quicker! **


	20. Chapter 20

**Yay! Chapter 20! Enjoy!**

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><p><em>Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.<em> ~Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock; _Sherlock BBC One_

_**Holmes**_

I turned away from the eye hole just as Mary's eyes seemed to flicker open. _Perhaps some good could come out of this_; I thought as a dizzy spell took over, _after all, Watson's probably looking for her already. Irene... may or may not be searching for me— well, can't ignore the bad though. If I let anything happen to soon-to-be-Mrs. Watson, the doctor will make a quick end to my life. But if I'm to get both of out of the place alive, I'll need to be well enough to escape. Though the chances of successful escape are much less than probable, so it's best not to think of such things. But—_

"Mmm-M-Mr. Holmes?"A tentative voice called quietly from the other side of the thick wall. Mary was obviously quite afraid, but she seemed to be doing a fair job at masking it. She was still lying on the ground, for I couldn't make out any footsteps.

Moriarty stepped from the shadows, striding forwards in my direction. His arm made a motion as if to close a door, then pointed to the hole next to my ear. Before I could turn to say something, he put a finger to his lips and then motioned to the guards at the top of the stairs.

I hesitated slightly before daring a glance back at Watson's fiancé. Her eyes seemed to lock with mine before I latched the door back shut, and turning away quickly.

"Moriarty," I addressed him informally, not caring one bit, walking as even as I could towards where he stood, right next to a clock recently set up. I briefly analyzed the small nicks on the left side, and dent of one of the arms (making it obviously a child's clock previously, for the young person continued to accidentally knock the wooden clock onto the floor and play with the metal arms) before continuing, "She doesn't have anything to do with this—"

He shook his head, pulling out his finely polished pipe, "You know you're argument is hollow for you wouldn't protest if she had nothing to with this. Yes, I've never been given a reason to give a care about her life but you care about Watson, thus care about her, and thus will make this a harder decision to test your moralities, how human you are. So yes, Mary Morstan has _everything_ to do with this."

I nodded slightly, wishing I could cross my arms at least to block out the freezing air.

He brought the gold pocket watch from his finely tailored coat once again, tapping the polished side with his finger in time with the quiet ticking. "Shall we proceed, then?"

_Might as well get it over quicker,_ I thought, my eyes flickering to look at the floor. I looked up, trying to gather my mind, "Well it wasn't as if you'd allow me to answer 'no', hmm?"

"Quite right, sir. _Quite,_" Moriarty replied, drawing out the words as he leant against the unpainted wall.

I stood precisely where I was, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. It took me a couple of moments to realize that he was waiting with no intention of starting. It suddenly clicked that I was to sit back down on the stool. So with as much dignity as I could hold, I made my way over to the wooden seat, the tension so thick in the air that it felt as if it wasn't possible to break it.

I sat down, raising my eyebrows slightly, "Ready when you are, _Professor._"

He gave a nod, sunken-in eyes returning to the pocket watch. "And now the question becomes where to start? Perhaps we should make sure that my men's information is correct? Though I highly doubt they were wrong in their spying, it's still a good thing to make sure of," he bantered, a crocked smirk appearing on his features. "Don't worry, the easy ones are quick. What is the profession of Jonathon David Dawson?"

"Easy," I replied, instantly thinking back to the train ride, "Surgical Doctor, working at the Westminster hospital."

Moriarty nodded slowly, smirk widening. "I'd just have to kill you if you got that one wrong…"

For a moment I sat expectantly before realization filled me, "You placed the suitcase there as a ploy. You wanted to distract me from the real puzzle with the lock you set up. What a nice contraption, I must say. But I must say it hardly worked for I still managed to take your contraption—one of a set I believe—that used the technology you stole in the sewers."

"Well it certainly slowed down your progress. What were you working on so feverishly in the hotel room and all the way back from the train station? Besides, how long do you think it will be sitting on the sofa near the window of your room? I'll bet it won't be there when you return…"

"I'm afraid you're incorrect, Professor," I couldn't help but gloat, "For, you see, it has been safely moved to a more secretive place, under lock and key."

…

"_Darling?" Irene said, sounding slightly tense as she closed her dressing room door behind her, "You aren't going to leave the mechanical box lying on the settee over there are you? I'd hate to lose evidence to a curious maid."_

"_No, of course not," I sighed as I finished the buttons of my silk waistcoat. As I turned to face her, I continued exaggeratedly, "I was going to lock it inside the suitcase, and place it in the closet and lock that as well!"_

_She turned to face me with a grin, "Wonderful idea!"_

…

Moriarty flipped the golden pocket watch in his hand, making it land with dull thuds which made me think that he had strong coordination, and therefore shouldn't be underestimated. He lifted his eyes back up to me, "I'm sure my men aren't as stupid as you make them out to be."

"I don't—"

"Next question," He interrupted, tossing the small oval into the air higher for a final time. "If you're so proud about taking one of my 'contraptions', please explain to me what it does?"

My mind instantly sent the message: _Not good._ I remained steady though, and tried to collect my thoughts as quickly as possible. After all, I only had a minute to think. _It sends a signal via the airways_; I stated the obvious to begin with. _Why would he want to trigger a signal though—ah that's it: a trigger! It's to fire a certain device, of course. No! Idiot! He didn't steal the machine that actually created the vibrations, no, he stole the receiver and didn't we establish that it didn't contain an explosive. Which means that it was—oh that…_

I answered as the thirty second mark passed, with a calm anger that filled my voice, "You were tracking us. It was sending a signal to the receiver you already had."

"What else is the hardest to see then the blatantly obvious? I believe that's the second time you've become a victim of that machine. Perhaps it would benefit you to research modern mechanics a bit more, Mr. Holmes." He said, now with a full crocked smile. "… But yes, correct."

"You promised I would get two hours rest after each question," I stated with a sigh, holding back my mental abuse until I managed to get alone.

He gave an exasperated look in response, giving the pocket watch another spin in the air, "I make the rules, don't you remember? You should listen with more interest when I speak; I said that these were only questions to check your progress, warm ups if you like."

I raised my brow slightly as a rat scuffled in the corner. It's barely audible footsteps echoed from the corner, though it was clothed in the darkness its sound revealed where it was hiding throughout the time. Using this break, I took a moment to fully take in my surroundings.

The walls, while built poorly and appearing very dark, weren't painted at all. This was because if it was painted, there would be peeling on the surface instead of slight lines. The floor was made up of damp concrete with the strong odor of mold. From these two things it was easy to see that this cellar or basement of sorts was used for storage, and was hardly ever entered by the previous owners of the small town house. Though the marks and nail scratched I could make out on the wood of the walls proved that Moriarty had been running his men here for several months. He seemed to have gone through many a prisoner as well, from the dried marks on the walls I mistook for blood at first sight. He must've not bothered to have anyone clean it, for the preview to what was to come was certainly unnerving.

My hands vainly began to try to undo the knots keeping my hands tied together.

"Well, shall we get started then with the real questions?" He asked, walking back farther into the shadows, voice all together sinister. "You seem to be quite anxious to begin. You must be just as bored as I."

"Hardly as devious, I've been told."

He gave a chuckle, "Oh come on, Mr. Holmes, you enjoy this and that you can't deny. In that dark part of your mind you find this absolutely entertaining. You need a challenge or else you'd hang yourself, a chance to prove to someone how brilliant you are. Like a performer, you need to show off your talents, and this happens to be the best place to show off. Professor Moriarty, the only person you've even considered to be level with you in the games you play; yes, to show him that you're superior, wouldn't that be the most rewarding?"

_He's right you know,_ something inside of me answered, though I wasn't in the mood to think upon it at the moment. "Get on with it."

"You _are_ anxious. Well I shan't stall any longer then." His footsteps began to walk around the pitch black border of the room. "A murder was committed on the fifth of April. It happened at the address of…"

* * *

><p>"… It was the deft man. He turned his head when the clock chimed, meaning he indeed wasn't deft." I finished my answer, keeping my expression and voice steady.<p>

Moriarty remained silent.

My blood pulsed with adrenaline, pounding in my head like the timpani in the orchestra. _I might've—no, no, no. I got it correct, I must've. I had to, I have to get them all correct, I have to them right for Mary, for Watson, for myself…_

He cleared his voice, sending another thunderous pulse through my veins. "Incorrect."

"What?" I asked, lacking any sign of emotion.

"I said your answer was wrong, Mr. Holmes, don't pretend to be stupid, we all know that it isn't true." He replied, his voice some strange combination of impatient and pleased. "Perhaps you missed my description of the sailor's cufflinks: polished—"

"Which means he had recently received money enough to have them cleaned and hence stole his inheritance from murdering him!" I nearly stood up and kicked the chair. _How could you miss that one word! One word, one little combination of sounds, of noises. I swear I was listening, but how on the whole bloody earth could I have missed that!_

Moriarty emerged back from the shadows, one eyebrow raised as his mouth curled into a foreboding smirk. "You'll have time to ponder over how you seemed to forget one word. I must say, I'm rather disappointed. Ms. Adler promised me you'd be a good show, but I suppose you've recently experienced some emotional turmoil which I hear doesn't do well in your system. Yes, heart break is most horrible. Shame you had to find out the woman was working with me the whole time."

My head turned sharply in his direction. _Of course… that's why she had the letter in the first place… It was all, completely, entirely an act. _Perhaps my thoughts were shattered for a moment.

"Oh you didn't know that? I thought you'd be able to put two and two together. Excuse my error please," He continued, his voice now completely filled with a strange delight. "Anyhow, I don't know if I should keep you alive if you're to fail so miserably upon the easiest question. We'll have to see, won't we?"

The door opened, revealing four new chaps all dressed in normal fashion, each easily seen to be quite muscular and wearing threatening smirks. I tried to form a plan, yet my mind came up with nothing to do.

"And now for the more important question, so it seems. Who is to face all four of these friends of mine? Ms. Mary almost Watson, or Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

Automatically my mouth opened, "Mr. Sherlock Holmes," before I could even think about it.

It didn't take long for a fist to collide expertly with my ribcage. And as Moriarty had said earlier, my 'living hell' began.

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><p><strong>Poor Sherly! Oh dear, what a mess! I have two challenges for everyone out there, so please keep reading.<strong>

**CHALLENGE ONE: You might've noticed I didn't include the puzzle Moriarty had for Sherlock. I wanted to come up with a very impossible-seeming problem that the reader wouldn't get (to make both seem brilliant of course!). Though my puzzle was horrible and I thought it best to leave it to the reader's imagination. Anyhow, that's the challenge. Whoever can come up with the best word puzzle for Sherlock to try to solve will get a dedication in the next chapter and their puzzle will be used. Have fun!**

**CHALLENGE TWO: If anyone wants to create a picture of Irene and Sherlock together from one of the scenes in the fic so far, you'll get a dedication in the next chapter from moi! I would really love to see this, so please PM me if you do ;)**

**As always, please review! Thanks to everyone who did!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Alright, so now part 2 of this chapter is added on to the bottom of Holmes' POV. Enjoy! Sorry for the confusion!**

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><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

_Aware… I'm aware. Must be awake; conscious. Open eyes… Try to open eyes at least. No, no can't, one's too swollen. Run analysis of injuries... Punch to jaw, punch to left eye. Several broken ribs, both sides, some cracked; not good. No, not good at all. Kick to lower back, badly bruised most likely, kicks to shin, hip bone, diaphragm. Right arm rotated back incorrectly, not dislocated, just bruised. Blow to side of head, pain; lots of pain. Must've sent me out… _

A dull knocking behind my shoulder persuaded me enough to try another attempt at opening my eyes. After realizing that I was leaning on a wooden wall, I was able to get them both taking in the familiar cell—basement—cellar.

My vision grazed over the sprawled out legs that I quickly recognized as my own._ Bent in wrong angles… could be worse, _I thought, a sharp pulsing coming from my shoulder. Though with further looking, I noticed a blue bruise and a bit of drying blood through the torn bit on the knee of my trousers. It would need a look at for sure, by Watson of course.

I slowly turned my head down to look at my arm that hurt the most. However, my vision was mostly brought to the deep maroon stain on my side, right were some of the cracked ribs were.

Another knock caused me to look up a bit too sharply.

My whole body went rigid for a moment as I winced at the strong wave of agony. I tried to calm down my breathing as to give me a second to recollect myself, but my instinct to get as much breath in my lungs took over. I was hyperventilating, and then choking.

Amidst my struggle, the previous events of the evening returned, not doing much to set me at ease. However, after I began to stop, I remembered as to who was probably knocking on the wall behind me. Inadvertently or on purpose, I did not know. The memory of the eye whole to the other side of the room returned too.

Slowly, this time, I craned my head upwards to find that I was just beneath said door. Quite obviously, it was going to be rather difficult and the pain that would cost me would be excruciating. However, when did that ever stop me before?

With one hand applying pressure to the bloody patch on my side, I began to use my feet to push my back up the wall. As soon as I began, my thighs protested profoundly, not even acting upon my first attempt. I managed to get off the concrete soon enough, only experiencing mild burning from my broken ribs. It wasn't until I begun to reach for the small knob that my vision began to blur.

_Almost there, you can't stop now; _I coaxed myself over the pounding in my head. _Don't choose this moment to suddenly become human you fool!_

My index finger and thumb managed to grab the rusted piece of metal long enough to fling it open. Just as it rebounded on the wall from force, I knew I couldn't bare it anymore. The leather clad feet beneath me gave out, leaving me nothing to pad my fall back onto the freezing ground.

I didn't blame myself too much for letting out a yell of agony that time.

"Mister Holmes!" Mary's cracked voice whispered in great concern, filtered by the small hole in the wall.

As much as I tried to form a response, I found that none would come. My breath was too rushed, my throat too dry, and my lips too raw.

I could hear the rustle of fabric, signaling that she was now moving to try and peer into the small doorway. She'd soon see that I was under the vision of the hole, out of sight. "Are- are you… alright? Where are you?" she managed, voice still wavering. "I heard all of it, w-well as well as I could from the other side of the wall; you talking to that man, but mostly just grunts and then yelling, punching, kicking and slamming against the wall. I was almost certain they killed you, all the time that you weren't moving. All the impact is easy to feel through the wall."

Finally I found enough strength to reply, not in the right position to feel annoyed with her rambling, "W-Well 'm certainly n-not dead, hmm? I'm just below the hole you're looking through, don't fret."

"Yes, yes, you're right…" She murmured, still in the on edge tone as before. I knew I shouldn't blame her, for she never was in such a situation and had no clue what was going on. Still I wished she'd attempt to calm herself, making the whole situation less pressuring.

Feeling a bit of responsibility towards Watson's fiancé, I asked without any emotion, "It doesn't really matter how I'm faring, anyhow. The real question is, are _you _alright, Ms. Morstan?"

She gave an empty chuckle, which mostly consisted of exhaling loudly, "I'm just cold, but that doesn't really matter in these circumstances, does it?"

"It matters," I continued in the same monotonous fashion, not daring to look at my injuries after collapsing to the floor. "How cold?"

"Nothing horrible. I think it was snowing outside, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Oh… Don't give me too much thought, anyhow. They don't want anything to do with me, though, right?"

I couldn't stop myself from letting down my guard down slightly upon this subject, "No. But I did make a promise to the Doctor. If I let a single soul harm you, Ms. Morstan, he'll kill me. And Watson doesn't break his word."

"He's looking for us, I'm sure," she replied, however her voice wasn't filled with optimism but with pure sincerity. She seemed to know, definitely, that her soon-to-be-husband was looking for her. Unlike my assurance with facts and reason, she knew because of emotions; of sentiment. _A deduction method full of loop holes…_

"I can't say anything to prove you're wrong," I replied, not knowing how to respond at all.

A couple moments passed in strange silence. I occasionally went to give a check at the wound on my side, only to find warm blood on the hand that was holding the injury. My dress clothes were officially ruined now. Watson wouldn't mind that I used his money on them once—if we got out.

After a couple moments, Mary asked quietly, "What does he—do they want from you? They don't want you dead, do they? You wouldn't be speaking to me now if they did."

"You wouldn't understand if I simply said he's bored," I thought out loud, thinking nothing of it, "He wants to see if I'm a big threat. This is simply a game to him, a quite enjoyable and entertaining game."

"Him?"

I tried my leg tentatively, correcting, "Professor James Moriarty. Watson must've told you something about him, right? He stole a piece of the machine designated to kill all of Parliament during the Blackwood case. He's been dubbed my equal." The sentence ended quickly as I winced at the smarting upon my knee.

"… Oh," Mary clearly was stuck upon the fact that Moriarty enjoyed this torture as entertainment. "Then why does hurting you have anything for him to gain?"

"Because it's part of the game! He gives me a deduction question to see if I could answer it, since he believes he obviously could in the same situation. If I get it wrong, I'm 'punished' with another test of what he calls 'morality'. Either I take it or give it to you." I replied, now finally feeling a bit stronger to be annoyed.

The woman seemed to feel strangely strong about this statement, "What?" _Change that, feels bad; Why should she? _

I gave a sigh, "Don't pity me… I chose."

"I wasn't going to," Mary answered, slowly.

I lifted my head up.

"… I wanted to say thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"You're welcome."

"Are you going to be alright?"

"My minds warmed up now, I'll get the next one right… And I wasn't going to let them hurt you."

"I know."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Adler<strong>_

I stood in front of the hotel room, key in hand, quickly trying to open the jammed door. _He has to have come back here. If he didn't go to the comfort of his doctor, he had to have come back here. He had morphine in his bag, which he's probably using right now to shake off the pain. He has to be here…_

Watson stood behind me, watching my every move with a suspicious eye. Of course he wasn't to trust me, and rightly so. But still, that was the least of the things I had to worry about.

"What if he's not in here?" The doctor asked as I managed to get the door to swing on its hinges.

I pushed the wood open with haste, turning back to look at him, "Well then, I don't—oh…"

My words stopped midsentence as I finally took in our hotel room. The window straight ahead of me was wide open, curtains blowing in the freezing winter wind. A puddle of water rested underneath, which lead to a trail of equally sopping marks on the carpet and wood flooring. The wet foot prints went all the way to the closet, of which the bottom was completely smashed through. It wasn't until I realized what was inside the closet that panic begun to travel through my blood.

"Ms. Adler…" Watson nudged me, looking at the mess himself, "He didn't do this, did he?"

Immediately I pushed past him, getting on my knees to begin to dig through the pile of wood slivers and broken boards. I briefly turned over my shoulder to look at him, "Depends which 'he' you're talking about."

"Holmes wouldn't do this. While he makes a proper mess of his rooms, he doesn't go completely animalistic and bash door and break vases—No, of course I meant Moriarty."

It was easy to tell that the doctor was doing his best not get frustrated with me. Upon all the times I encountered me I'd determined that he, being the proper Victorian gentleman, did his best not to lash out at me in anger. But he obviously disliked me for putting his best friend in emotional danger. Watson was his self-appointed minder. He provided Sherlock the support to stand on, since he was slightly socially-handicapped, so it was obvious to why he was always giving me a stare.

Obviously, all I achieved from digging through the mess was a nice set of splinters on my wrists and the knowledge that whoever came in here had taken the metallic device. Whether this would be a fatal blow, I had yet to determine.

I got up on my feet, wisps of curls flying into my face, "They took something; a metal box that Sherlock said transmitted radio signals or something of the sort."

"How bad is it that they got a hold of this?" He asked, lip twitching slightly at the use of his friend's first name.

"I don't know," I admitted, pushing the strand of hair back.

Watson brushed past me, going to examine the open window. "You don't know?" He asked incredulously, putting a hand to his forehead.

I followed close behind at his heels, "I'm not him."

"Quite obviously," he muttered, bending down to look at the puddle of water. I simply looked over his shoulder, my expression set. "How long ago did it start snowing?"

I looked at the clock upon the wall, "About an hour and a half ago. Moriarty's men couldn't have come before that."

"Right." With his hands on his thighs, Watson pushed himself up. He turned to me, an accusing glint in his eyes. "Now how is that supposed to help us? You work for The Professor, so why don't you give me some helpful information in regards of where my fiancé is?"

I let out a sigh, "I don't work for him."

"I don't believe you."

"He tried to blow me up for God's sake!" I replied hotly, taking a step back and turning around. "I thought he would've told you."

Watson took several paces after me, "No, he was much too busy being whisked off to Paris."

I let out an angered sigh. With quick footsteps, I made my way to the bedroom and opened the door. Quickly, I returned with his back pack in my hands. I held it up, pointing to the bag with my gloved index finger, "He wanted me to come with him—he… trusted me. If you can't believe me, then that's your own fault, Dr. Watson." _What a lie; trusted—ha! Just wait until you find him again, he'll never give you a single second of _trust_._

The Doctor came to give a look at the half-unpacked backpack. "Trusted? Well Ms. Adler, please excuse my frankness, but while many name him the most brilliant man in all of Europe, he is sometimes wrong. Especially when love, or lust (whatever you call your relationship) interferes with his deductions!" He spoke with a clenched jaw, eyes wide as he stared down at me.

"Fine." I put the bag down, pursing my lips with my chin lifted high, "You're allowed to think whatever you wish, doctor, but going on like this isn't going to help locate him or your fiancé any quicker."

Watson's expression loosened slightly, and he leant back slightly. I watched the anger lessen in his eyes, as he visibly took a deep breath. After closing his eyes, he looked back at me, "I'm sorry. You're—you're right." He gave a brisk nod before turning around and taking a couple steps back towards the smashed closet door.

I took another deep breath, looking down at the floor.

For another moment, we simply stood in silence, minds racing as we tried to think of something that could possibly lead us to him, where we both seemed to think Mary would be as well. It wasn't until a minute or so passed that I eventually noticed a slight ticking noise that I hadn't seemed to hear before. "Do you hear something?"

"…Yes." Watson replied, lifting his head up.

_Tick… tick… click… tick…_

I listened closely, noticing that the sound was coming from the closet. The Doctor locked eyes with me, and then proceeded to follow me as I went to the ruined door. This time, after giving a search through my bag, I used the key to open the closet.

At a first glance, there still was no sign of the suit case the metal contraption was hidden in. Though with more careful examination, I was soon able to pick out a small package with a familiar looking envelope on top of it. The note was resting on its front side so that the blood red seal of an 'M' was easily visible. Watson (less forcefully) slid in front of me and carefully lifted the brown-paper wrapped parcel along with the envelope. I backed away, giving him enough room to turn around and set it down upon the glass coffee table in the middle of the room.

Without any consent on his side, I opened the note and quickly skimmed over the perfect cursive, my face a mask of calmness. Though on the inside, my heart beat quickened in my ears.

Watson observed my face, waiting for a conclusion. Since I hardly gave him anything to form a conclusion to he said quietly, "Read it aloud… please."

"There's nothing you need to he—" I responded, though I was quickly cut off.

The Doctor held out a hand, "Would you rather I read it then?"

I flashed him a warning glare, pulling the envelope away. "Dear Ms. Adler," I started, voice steady, "I assumed you're currently wondering where your device has been taken, or perhaps even where your detective is. To answer that, at the moment he is under my watch. Don't worry; he'll be free to come back to you or to the good doctor in two days' time. As always, The Professor." I looked up, searching for his reaction.

Though instead of the perhaps signs of despair, anger or worry, I was met with another criticizing glare. Watson took a step closer, craning his neck to look over my shoulder. "Are you sure that's all that he wrote?"

"Of course." _Damn it! _I thought, pulling away slightly.

"May I read it? Perhaps there's a clue on it?"

I shook my head, walking to the door, "No, he makes sure that his writers never give any hints unless he wants someone to find him. Do you need a revolver, Doctor?"

"What do you have to hide?" He asked boldly.

I paused.

_You have too much to hide. _

"It makes no difference…" I responded, my back facing him. "Don't you want to find your bride to be? Every time you pry, Mary has less and less of a chance of surviving."

His footsteps tapped on the floor; an uneven beat. He was limping slightly. Only a second later he ripped the piece of paper from my hand, and I let him. If he wanted even more of a reason to despise me, or to be suspicious of me, it was his own fault.

"…He is under my watch. You can breathe now, my dear, you have gotten him here for me. And while you were late, I understand that we all run into messes we can never predict. As I promised, you're free from your employment. I wish to personally thank you, which is why I sent a present along with this note…" Watson lifted his head to look at me.

His gaze was some mix of fury and accusation. I paid him no mind, however, and went to grab my weapons from Sherlock's back pack.

Watson might've said something or another, perhaps yelled, but I wasn't listening. Wordlessly, I opened the hotel room door, and shut it behind me.

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><p><strong>Again, sorry. Updates should be back to normal soon. I promise one next week ;)<strong>

**It would make me very happy if you kindly pressed the button below!**


	22. Chapter 22

_Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. ~Kahlil Gibran_

**~Chapter 22: Accepting the Truth**

_**Holmes**_

"…Which suit case is the bomb planted inside?"

"T-the... one t' the leff... B-but iz going t' explode when opened," I murmured weakly through gritted teeth. My sight was heavy on the smiling blade resting above my arm. Its razor sharp edge was stained with dark maroon continually threatening to come down once again. The warm liquid slid down my marred skin, traveling from the deep cuts and pooling in the shredded dress shirt. _You can't afford to get it wrong... You can't afford to lose too much blood_.

"You're correct- _this_ time," Moriarty's cold voice cut through the darkness, a sick delighted undertone to its sound.

Carbon dioxide escaped my lips in a hiss as I instantly sighed with feigning relief. I knew it was stupid to feel slightly less concerned, for this wasn't even the tenth question. Was it the seventh? No, no it felt much longer, much too painful.

My wrists and ankles were currently tied with much too tight cords to the arms and legs of a chair. The lawyer- who certainly had a much larger career outside of the law- apparently was handy with a knife. This game was simple; if I get a question wrong my arm would get a long cut down the side. If not, I could breathe for a minute. I now had three nice gashes down my left, which seared with burning agony each time the blade penetrated my skin.

A quiet squeak distantly sounded, though it quickly stopped itself. _My god, please don't…_

Mary was watching me through the hole in the wall—she had since he came back down once again an hour ago. She gave herself away, for at times her emotions failed her and let out a small sob or a gasp. I wished I could tell her not to torture herself like this, for she didn't have to witness this. In all honesty, I questioned why she was even subjecting herself to watching. If her intents were to comfort me then I would say it worked quite the opposite, but truly it didn't wake anything too worse. It gave me something to think about instead, actually.

I bent over as much as possible, my black hair hanging in front of my face. _Don't show weakness, gain composure. Keep your mind clear, don't get distracted. Focus fool! _I told myself, trying to gain control of my breathing. However, when I turned to my brain once again, I found it fogged with pain. _If you can't think straight, you're only going to get the question wrong again!_

"Mr. Holmes, come now," Moriarty's voice mocked from behind me. I kept my vision fixed upon my shoes, refusing to stare up. Suddenly a hand grabbed the side of my jaw and forced my head up to stare at him in the eye, "A genius doesn't simply let himself fall to torture. No, he's much too smart for that! After all, this is just a stupid game; child's play… I'm beginning to doubt your abilities."

"You're taking it q-quite seriously for a simple game," I replied gruffly, pulling away.

"Well aren't I only asking riddles and puzzles?" He gave a dark chuckle, taking the knife from the lawyer and motioning for him to leave and to shut the door to Mary's window.

Words came out of my mouth besides myself, "I believe you're referring to games with no stakes, Professor."

"Then your colleague's past time must seem quite dangerous to you, hmm?" He responded nonchalantly, holding the knife up to eyelevel so that it reflected the small amount of life from the holes in the floor above.

Another quiet sob echoed into the small cellar-turned-cell, followed by the sound of wood smacking into itself. I turned my vision to look at the miniscule hole in the wall to see it closed once again, the latch locked to prevent it from being able to be pushed open from the other side.

I returned my vision quickly to the glinting weapon in his hands, a hole of fear worming itself into my stomach. His employee was quiet skilled with a knife and knew precisely where to cut to inflict pain, but to avoid cutting open any major veins. Moriarty on the other hand was not wielding the tool with simple orders, no; he was wielding it with strong hatred towards an enemy. Not to mention the fact that he was merciless, cunning and devious.

"Now tell me, consultant detective," He slid the knife to the base of my throat, catching me unawares. I simply held his gaze, as my muscles constricted against the blade slightly pushing itself against my neck. _Keep your thoughts fixed and clear. Pain is temporary, it will eventually end. _"What material is the bomb constructed out of if the man got it at that exact factory?"

_Only harm will come to you, there's no one else to worry about. There is nothing here that you need to worry about, the pain will go away. _I closed my eyes, exhaling and inhaling deeply, trying to let the clockworks in my head to start spinning on their own, as they usually did.

"Forty-five seconds…"

After several seconds I began to feel them warm up, running manually. Each clog and every theory and detail sent the next gear turning, beginning to make the motor of my machine functioning. Before long I had collected enough information from the scenario to draw the best answer.

"Fifteen seconds…"

I cleared my throat loudly, only to have the blade press harder against my throat. A single bead of red began to travel down from its mark. "…Gasoline—the factory is right next to an automobile one. All it requires is a small spark, which was provided by the match." _It's right, there's no way it could be incorrect. It's the only possibility, it has to be._

Moriarty stared at me for a moment, searching my expression for a sign of fear. I tried to keep my face as slack as possible, but the growing sensation of my skin being split was hard to ignore. "That answer's correct."

A part of me almost was tempted to smirk, but I quietly felt the rush of alleviation that I wasn't to be sliced by such a man. _Breath, remember to breath!_

I prepared myself for the relief of having the blade being pulled away, thought to my surprise, it edge remained cutting into my flesh. My vision wandered over to The Professor, looking from him to the knife. "I believe I was promised a break—"

"Might I remind you that I'm the game master?" He replied darkly, all the delight in his voice simply evaporating.

"Then I will resist telling you that this, I believe, is the tenth question."

The burning flared; another bead of red traveled down my throat. _Well I suppose I deserved that one, didn't I? _

My breathing, by this point had become quite uneven until it seemed like small hiccups of gasps for oxygen. Things were growing somewhat blurry around the edges and a faint humming noise had begun to enter my hearing. The spots in my vision were next to come, certainly, for this was my body alerting me that I had indeed lost too much vital fluids. _You aren't going to remain conscious for that much longer, idiot, _I told myself as I tried to bring my neck farther away from the blade's razor edge.

With the knife still in his hand, Moriarty straightened up and walked so that he stood in front of me. I could only let out a stifled cry as the weapon turned with his hand. "I'm afraid you lost count, Mr. Holmes. There's actually one more question I have for you, and do excuse me, for I believe it to be a bit more... _personal _shall we say?"

_Well that's certainly not going to stop you_, I retorted in my mind. Perhaps if I wasn't too busy biting down upon my bottom lip I might've said it.

He stopped and bent down so that he was eye level, a knowing smirk on his features. "Do you know exactly which side the lovely Ms. Adler is on?"

I met his stare unwaveringly, my mouth opening automatically, "Y-yours." It was strange to feel a completely different sort of pain in core after I said this.

The Professor turned his head to a side, pulling the blade free. "Are you positive?"

"… Quite," I gave a curt nod, my breath quivering.

"Correct."

The blade cleanly swept upwards from the spot of which he had previously dug it into my skin, causing my head to immediately tilt back. I let out a slight cry of protest as the cell began to turn spotted, black dots appearing.

Moriarty gave another quiet laugh now sounding far away, as if he was on the other side of the wall. I could hardly tell if this was true, for the darkness blurring the edges of my sight was growing. "Beginning to accept the truth finally, hmm?"

The black nothingness quickly swooped down to cover the remains of what it forgot to conceal, seemingly even over my entire body. The pain suddenly fled from my arms and throat, as if the shadow had swallowed it as well as my senses. I appeared to be somewhere quite distant, by this point, tiresome and yet aware.

And then I was sitting in a chair by a warm crackling fire. It was obviously in Watson's office, for my rooms were certainly not anywhere as… well organized. Speaking of the good doctor, he was sitting next to me in his favorite leather arm chair that he had got as a present from some relative or another, reading a newspaper that covered his face. Gladstone was at my feet, sleeping in a tight curled up ball and not because of a medication I had tried on him.

It was quite comfortable in the chair; comfortable and almost safe. Something before when I was sitting in the chair kept prodding at my thoughts, and yet I couldn't remember it. All that I could gather was that it wasn't good, and I was quite content to be away from it.

"Sherlock?" A female voice called lightly.

Suddenly a woman appeared, standing on the other side of me. No, not simply a woman, it was _the _woman. She smiled at me gently, blue eyes sparkling in the light of the fire. Her open palm looked so inviting, so soft.

I took her hand hesitantly, and she smoothly helped me to my feet.

"Where are you going?" Watson asked, still hidden by the newspaper. Something about his voice wasn't right.

Words wouldn't come forth from my mouth as Irene led me by the hand towards the fireplace. I followed without question, looking at the patterns of the rug we tread upon.

Suddenly Watson cried out, giving a panicked yell. I spun around immediately to see the newspaper (now clearly titled "MORIARTY KILLS THOUSANDS") beginning to eat away at his hands, pulling them into the paper. He turned to give me a pleading stare, face drained of all color.

Without hesitating I turned around to go help my Boswell, only to find that my hand was somehow glued to Irene's. I spun to face her, as if to ask her to let go and help me, to see her smiling innocently at me. Watson made another terrified shout, which only sent a wave of urgency through my body. However, the woman simply began to giggle at me.

The fire from under the furnace began to crawl out from under the chimney, sparking flames to the bookcases and carpet.

Irene continued to laugh as Watson's whole arms were devoured by the newspaper.

"Please!" I managed to yell as the fire spread all around the room, coming straight towards us. Blood began to spill from her eyes as she shook her head, chortling as if I had said the funniest thing in the world.

Smoke swirled towards us as I vainly tried to pull my wrist from her grasp. It began to cloud my vision and fill my lungs until I found I couldn't breathe. The flames hungrily leapt forward to eat Irene and go to devour me as well. All I could do was simply shrink down to the floor, ash and fire the only thing in sight.

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><p><em><strong>Adler<strong>_

I reached the lobby of the hotel with my chin lifted high and my lips pursed. _If he isn't to work with me_, I reasoned, digging in the pocket of my dress to find the rest of my weapons, _I'll simply have to find him myself. Start from the basics… where could he possibly have gone?_

Realizing that many of the visitors of the place were staring at me in my sopping dress, holding a knife, I quickly retreated to the corner of the room. _Did he have the envelope when we went to the opera? Oh lord… that must've been why he left. He thinks that—_

"Ms. Adler!" Watson's voice rang out from the crowd, followed by quickened footsteps down the stairs.

I discretely placed the knife into a place of which I could easily reach it and pretended as if I couldn't hear him. Placing a curl behind my ear, I began to walk towards the door.

"Ms. Adler, wait, please!"

Before my hand could go to reach for the door knob, another landed on my wounded shoulder. I winced strongly, biting back a cry. "Watch it!"

"Oh… sorry," he responded, immediately pulling away.

I spun on my heel, "If you'll excuse me, I was just about to—"

"I need your help, _now_." He responded, brow dotted with sweat. I was about to respond smartly but he continued, "The 'gift' Moriarty sent you, well, it's a bomb—a bomb that's going to explode very soon unless you disarm it like you did in the sewers."

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><p><strong>Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I was so busy with finals this week to try to respond to them :( This time I can, don't worry!<strong>

**Did anyone else buy the GoS DVD? I'm quite happy with my Blu-Ray combo pack, haha.**

**Reviews are very much enjoyed *wink, wink* Free cyber cookies! Alright, I've been informed that if you reviewed the last chapter, you won't be able to for this chapter. Simply sign the review anonymously with your pen name, and I'll get back to you with the cookies :) Thank you!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Alright, this week has been incredibly difficult for me, hence why the update took so long. I'm really sorry to keep you waiting. But thank you to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. While this is sad, it is a fact that I'm required to remind you.**

**Warning: This really doesn't deserve a warning because its no worse than the last one. It involves knifes and cutting people, okay? There, I said it. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>~Chapter 23: Addresses and Switchblades~<strong>

_**Adler**_

"Miss Adler…"

"I'm trying, I am! Almost there…"

"In case you haven't realized, it's getting closer to the mark"

"It would help if you could shut up."

"_Miss_—"

"Quiet! And… there it is."

The daunting clicks went silent, just as the silver gears and clogs ceased their turning. The small wooden box in both of our hands let a small wisp of smoke free, as if showing its surrender to the small battle. For now it lay lifeless, the heat from its surface quickly weakening.

Watson looked up at me in shock, glancing back down at the dismantled bomb before meeting my stare once more. "… How did you do that?" He asked, his eyes still wide.

"I pulled out what it was using as power," I replied with a raise of an eyebrow, holding a small vial of gasoline. I raised it to eyelevel, pulling the bomb from his clammy hands. With a deep breath I set both down on the table and pulled a curl out of my face. "Can you see if you can get the gun powder out of there? It's in a small packet in the corner."

The doctor continued to stare at me with mixed emotions before taking a thorough exhale himself. He tilted his head slightly to the side, still staring at me with a combination of suspicion and confusion, "…Why can't _you_?"

While disarming the bomb seemed to be enough to earn his temporary trust, it obviously wasn't enough to gain it fully. True, there were levels of trust, and at the moment Watson's was on the very minimal side. Though it was much better than what had commenced only twenty minutes or so ago.

I began to turn away from the low table, walking towards the door which lead to my room, "I need to look for something; something that'll hopefully take us to your detective."

He sat down hesitantly, pulling the box to sit down on his lap, "And that is…?"

"A set of addresses I received," I responded as I opened the door. _In fact, several letters, with the same locations. Sometimes it helps to believe you've lost a copy… _

Watson seemed satisfied with this answer, for he made no response. I continued into my room, to my bag sitting on the messy bed. After removing several objects and clothing pieces, I opened a file at the bottom of the suit case. Within it, I kept all the notes sent to me by The Professor, even if I hadn't gotten around to placing the most recent ones inside. For it was quite bad when one lost information sent to them by Moriarty, and I had learned that the hard way.

The second copy of the addresses lay at the top of the small pile of pieces of parchment that I had accumulated of late. With cold fingers, I peeled it from the other small sheets before picking it up and skimming the writing for another time. After I glanced through the note, and eerily familiar cursive writing, I searched the list of addresses. _Germany… Spain… France…_

I tore the bit of the note off of the parchment, in case the doctor became curious once again. Then quickly, I closed the door and changed into Sherlock's clothes and my boots before emerging with the address in my hand.

Watson was quite concentrated when I approached him once again. About when I was halfway towards the sofa he was seated at, he looked up. Realization filled his expression not long after I stood in front of him as he recognized his best friends clothing. I simply ignored the strange glance he gave me.

"Moriarty said he would let Mr. Holmes free in three days," I recounted the last note he had sent us, pulling the revolver out of my pocket. "But, truly, I don't think I can wait that long. How about you?"

I tossed him the address. "Coming?"

He gave a cut nod, quickly standing up and going for the door, me following close behind.

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><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

The shadows had me drowned when a sudden sting hit my cheek. I flinched, surprised by the blow, only to find that I was being held by the scruff of my neck up against a wall; A wall in the same cell, in the same darkness, in the same frigid cold.

I blinked sleepily to try to clear my vision, only to find that disconnected colors still dotted everything along with patches of black. Another rough smack quickly solved that, despite my groan of pain which followed, for I was then staring the lawyer in the face, warm liquid trickling from my nose. His lips pulled themselves in to smirk before he banged my whole body against the wall. Unable to do anything about it, I simply crumpled onto the ground, shuddering at the never ending, burning pain.

The lawyer's footsteps tapped on the floor as he turned to walk away, however another's quickly approached to stare down upon me.

After a moment or so of quivering breaths, I managed to lift my gaze upwards. The first thing to meet my blurring sight was wooden handle of a common switch blade, though as I continued to look higher, I wasn't too surprised to see Moriarty's lined face leering down.

"Hold this, will you?" He asked quietly, turning the blade.

With a questioning glance, I managed to support myself on only one fist before grabbing the weapon from his hand. My palm closed around the hilt before landing back on the unforgiving concrete with an audible _thud. _"Why?" Was the only word that I could manage to come from within my arid throat.

He continued to smirk, knowingly, "Oh, I think you can piece this together." He stepped aside, to reveal the silhouette of another figure behind him in the center of the room. As my eyes begin to adjust themselves once again to the darkness, I wasn't surprised to see Mary now tied to the chair. Her expression was absolutely mortified; face quite pale from the cold.

What was going on clicked quite suddenly, _you're holding the knife this time. _"Y-you know," I started, feeling my muscles protest as I pushed myself up to sit, "You're awfully pre-predictable in your… in your m-methods of torture, _Professor_."

Moriarty chuckled slightly, sticking his hands into his pockets before turning and walking towards Watson's fiancé. "You must admit that it _is _rather an effective way, though."

_Don't say anything, and don't nod, _something told me in the back of my mind, _you don't want to frighten her even more than she already is. _

"Shall I explain the rules?" The Professor asked nonchalantly, leaning on the back headrest of the wooden chair. Even from the distance at which I was slumped I could make out the dark brown stains of my blood on the surface.

He must've not needed a response, for he continued on anyhow, tilting his head to the side. He turned to address Mary, "It's quite simple, as your detective friend will tell you. If you get the question right, nothing happens to either of you. If you get it wrong… well I'm sure you'll look quite dashing in red, don't you think?"

Mary held back a quiet whimper, turning to look away and hide her even paler face.

With the raise of his head, Moriarty returned his vision to me, "Sound like a fair game?"

"N-no—not at all…" I responded, my voice hoarse and low. _If he thinks that I'm going to cut her, he is dearly mistaken._

The Professor simply took several strides closer, obviously quite entertained, "I'm afraid that isn't your call to make."

I attempted to get my aching body to sit taller against the wall, though only managed to make my damaged ribcage hurt much more. "This lady has absolutely nothing to—"

"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that we've already discussed this, correct?" His voice raised itself threateningly over mine.

My face tensed, falling into an expression of seriousness. Something inside of me fueled my voice to remain steady as tried to clearly state my point, "I insist _I_ take the beating." It was a stupid argument I would never win, and yet I couldn't help but refuse to do it. At least I was gaining time to distract him. _You can't let him make you harm her. I doubt she'll ever be able to stare at you without going white as a sheet with fear. Watson might as well literally kill you, if you don't already become affected with the guilt that comes with it. _

Moriarty gave me a quick look up and down. After a long pause of silence, he shrugged, "Well if you prefer that _I_ wield the blade, that can be arranged. Perhaps then you can spare yourself the guilt that way. Though, I must tell you I've been known to slip once in a while. You never know what could happen…" He flipped a pocket knife from his breast pocket. Lazily, he strode back to where Mary sat, gliding the sharpened blade against the exposed skin on her arm. She cringed, nearly jumping out of her seat.

"Don't touch her!" I hissed, leaning forwards. My broken ribs protested profoundly.

"So you'd prefer to do it yourself?" The Professor, lifted the dagger from her flesh and pointing it in my direction. He nodded to the switchblade clutched in my fist.

"Prefer?" I raised the knife to the best of my ability. The thought of throwing it at him crossed my mind. However, I was much too weak to make sure it would land properly and I couldn't risk it missing. "I'd _prefer _that if you must maim someone it isn't her!"

He dismissed the comment by continuing to walk back towards the chair. As he did so, he spoke, "If you're having such a hard time choosing, Mr. Holmes, I'm sure Mrs. Watson—pardon me, madam, Ms. Morstan—could make her selection instead." By this point he had reached the chair, once again pointing the blade at her, thins time at her throat, "Mademoiselle?"

"I-I…" The lady stuttered, searching my expression for help.

"This is cruel to have her—" I attempted to interject, as if it would really do anything.

Moriarty pushed the tip of the blade harder to her skin, making her begin to quiver. "Your choice?" He asked impatiently, "I'm afraid I don't have all day."

Mary's eyes briefly rested on mine for another couple seconds before glancing down at her lap. Her expression revealed how much she dreaded speaking. Eventually, though, she opened her mouth, "… Mr. Holmes." Her voice was quiet and cracking, nearly inaudible.

"Well I must say that I guessed such a choice," The Professor said, his tone bored. "Oh well. Perhaps next round—what do you think?"

"You're an inhu—" I muttered, before being cut off once again.

"Save your breath. I have a feeling you'll need it. Clarkson, please, have him brought over here."

This time, the man who I presumed was a sailor came from the shadows along with the lawyer. Both of them grabbed me by my arms, dragging my legs across the frozen ground. I couldn't suppress a small cry of agony as one of my arms was near dislocated, though I did my best as I was forced to kneel in front of the lady.

I skidded to a halt, upon my bruised and now scraped knees. I looked up at her, my expression as deeply apologetic as I could manage.

"I'm—I'm _so, _s-so sorry, Mr. Holmes," she whispered weakly, daring a glance towards the Professor who was now consulting with the two henchmen of his. "I-I didn't mean… mean to p-put you through this."

"It's-It's not your fault." I tried to assure her, best I could.

She suppressed a sob, shaking her head, "I'm—I didn't w-want _him _to…"

"No, I don't b-blame you at all," I patted her hand awkwardly, continuing to take furtive glances back at Moriarty. "Shhh, stay calm"

She nodded best as she could, her breaths short and loud. "Y-you won't get any of the questions wrong, right?"

_False comfort, not wise_, I thought to myself, pondering how best to answer this. Eventually, I decided on promising on the one thing I was in control of: myself. "I can't p-promise anything, but I'll do my best to make sure you go through the smallest—the least amount of blood loss and pain as possible. You just need to make sure that you don't… well, d-distract me. Keep as quiet as you can."

Mary at first didn't seem quite convinced about this, but forced herself to continue to bob her head. She managed to bite her lip, trying to compose herself.

"Well then!" Moriarty's voice cut through the air just as a blade could easily pass through skin. He walked back towards both of us, that sick grin upon his features. "Shall we begin?"

…

_Nine questions in a row is probably your best record yet, _I thought to myself, avoiding Mary's stare. _Don't look at her, it'll only put you under more pressure. You can't break the streak now, you can't. Are you sure this answer's correct? It has to be right, because you can't afford to suffer a loss now. It just has to be correct, you can't have any doubts, you can't. _

"You don't wish to keep a lady waiting, now do you Mr. Holmes?" The Professor spoke slowly, standing right behind where I knelt.

_Shut up_.

Then suddenly, my mouth opened without my permission, "…It was c-covered in wax to prevent it from rusting." _No, no, no! It was, _"Wrong! It was polish! The captain kept applying polish to the chains!"

Mary visibly seemed to become petrified, her glance staring up at the shadow clad man behind me.

The whole room seemed to go silent in anticipation, just as I did.

Eventually he took a deep breath before speaking, "… I'm afraid that once you supply an answer, it is quite final."

_You didn't just do that, did you? _I thought, unable to believe what was beginning to transpire. _No, no, no…_

"The answer is correct, Mr. Holmes. I believe you know what follows."

Mary turned her sight upon me, her stare truly terrified. _She doesn't trust me, does she?_

The sailor, who stood behind her chair, grabbed her left arm roughly. He pulled it to lay on the edge of her lap, the white underside facing up. Her finger twitched rapidly as she tried to escape the man's hold.

I met her gaze as steadily as I could, my own hand growing tense around the wooden hilt of the switchblade. "Hold still," I whispered, hoping neither of the other men could hear me. Though, how could I possibly look to be trustworthy holding a knife, and staring at her with a black eye and bloody nose?

"Shall I do it, for you?" Moriarty pressed, taking a step closer so that he was only inches from my bruised and beaten back.

Slowly, I raised the blade with an uncontrollable tremble. _Yes, avoiding all of her veins is a good idea. She is quite skinny, so there's not much fat on her arm to serve as a less painful spot. Muscle isn't such a good idea either… _My mind raced, trying to think of the least painful way to go about this.

However, my fist was suddenly grabbed my The Professors, who was surprisingly much stronger than he appeared. With his strength, he maneuvered my hand right above the heel of her palm, the knife point facing downwards. _If he slits her wrists then…_

"Please, please, don't…"

I used all my remaining strength to push the blade higher up, and to the right, to avoid any major bloodstreams running through her arm. Unfortunately, I didn't predict Moriarty bringing down the switchblade at the same time.

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><p><strong>Now if you could please push the button below...<strong>

**Comments, critique, anything is welcomed and appreciated ;)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Alright, be proud of me- I wrote all of Holmes's POV in the car on the way to vacation on my iPhone, lol. Hence there may be more mistakes than usual. Anyways, enjoy!**

**WARNING: Alright, the violence/grossness isn't horrible. Just some innuendos- nothing actually happens. But it _is _rated T, and I promise, it ain't bad.  
><strong>

**Hope you like!**

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><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

Mary let out a gut wrenching cry as blood pooled out of the gash on her inner left arm. It stained the hand of the sailor and her dress, splattering several droplets on my leg. A strange sensation filled my stomach, twisting and dropping sickeningly.

Before I could do so much as react, Moriarty's knee collided sharply with my back as I believed I could hear him chuckle slightly. I instantly let go of the crimson stained blade and fell towards Mary's own quivering leg. As the metal knife fell to the concrete with a crash, I was able to catch myself before hitting her, my ribs flaming with hurt.

"H-help me!" she whispered, voice trembling with fear and her eyes reflecting it as well as she looked down at her blood soaked arm. Though it was obvious she didn't want The Professor to hear, her voice certainly wasn't as controlled as she had hoped.

I nodded, trying to recover from the small blow. _I'm certainly not going to let you bleed to death on my watch, _I thought looking down at the soiled hem of her dress, registering the fact that the fabric would be enough to probably stop the blood flow eventually. Well maybe- Watson was much better at this sort of thing.

As discreetly as I could manage, my hand slipped to the edge of Mary's skirt. However, my attempt was quickly halted once again with another sharp knee to the back of my rib cage. This time I couldn't help but crash into the future Mrs. Watson's shin and let out a quiet cry.

"I believe we're still in the middle of a match, Mr. Holmes," his voice was robotic and cold, yet the evident amusement was somehow more apparent then ever.

Clutching my agonized side, I sat up as my face scrunched in pain. "You cut open-"

"Me?" Moriarty repeated as if my words were some sort of a joke, "_You _were the one who decided to move the switch blade."

_He's lying. He wants you to pile more guilt upon your shoulders, to make Mary even more scarred,_ my mind quickly determined yet somehow I only half listened. "Y-you... you, _not_ m-myself, cut open her artery! She's g-going t' bleed... bleed t' death 'nless I-I do an-anything!"

"I'm afraid your being terribly drastic at the moment," he replied, bringing the dripping blade in front of my reach, placing another hand on my shoulder. "We have two more questions to go, and I suggest you comply else Ms. Morstan will have to go through even more questions. Not to mention Clarkson over here was just telling me how... lovely she is."

Mary squirmed with all the strength she had left, her expression some mixture of horror and disgust.

I looked over my shoulder to meet his shadow cloaked face, my jaw clenched. Each word came forth slowly with as much venom as I could draw, "Y-you wouldn't dare..."

"I'll give you dix seconds before I grant him his wish," He sighed heavily. Just to prove his point, the sailor grasping Mary's arm flickered his gaze up at the Professor, a hint of eagerness in his eyes. "Un..."

I bit my tongue, knowing that it would simply be a waste of time trying to argue with him; all previous attempts had proven so. Instead I looked at my rather obvious options, trying to ignore Mary's desperate attempts of finding comfort in my stare. _Allowing Watson's fiancé to be handed over to Moriarty's goon against having to risk slicing her arm once again; why can't there be one good option? _

"Deux..."

My bloodied fingers closed around the hilt of knife and pulled it roughly from The Professor's grasp until it rested on my lap. I kept my eyes looking at the pattern carved into the wooden handle, trying to calm my thinking. _There, I gave in. Gloat all you like, you sadist. _

Moriarty seemed quite please with this reaction, and released his vice like grip on his shoulder. After a heavy sigh, Mary stopped her struggling and the whole room went completely dead silent.

The Professor cracked his knuckles before speaking once again, "Well, I believe we're onto our next question then. Alright, a grocer buys his fruit from a black market dealer. One day, he doesn't pay his dues, so the black market dealer decides to poison several apples he sends the grocer. If they're poisoned wi-"

Suddenly, the wooden door at the top of the stairs crashed open, hitting the wall opposite it with a bang. All of the small groups' heads spun to face the lawyer who now stood at the entrance. The bluish light behind him created an eerie silhouette, casting more shadows in the cellar-turned-cell.

"What is it?" Moriarty asked irritably, lifting his head to his assistant.

The man hesitated slightly before speaking, "Ms. Adler and The Doctor were spotted coming this way, sir. The boys an' I were going to go stop 'em, but we wanted your orders first."

_She came for me? Watson too? _I registered the thought after a bit, something untwisting the knot my stomach was tied in. Mary's eyes instantly widened, hearing her white knight was coming to rescue us.

"You idiots, I told you specifically _not _to leave base!" he hissed, stepping away from my back and towards the stairs. The silhouette shuddered slight, though stood his ground as his employer continued, "Stick to the plan, don't wait for my signal. Now go- GO!"

The lawyer gave a nod and turned quickly to slam the door closed once again. After it rebounded several times, there was the distinct sound of footsteps pounding up to the ground floor. Then once the patting fully went quiet, Moriarty turned once again to look us, his prey, in the eye.

_He's not going to risk getting found by the police, that would be the most logical thing to do. He'll flee, like a ghost, leaving no evidence behind_, I reasoned, though of course I wouldn't mistakenly believe it. After all, how was going to such a measure to test someone's abilities logical?

"Clarkson, would you please bring Ms. Morstan to her room?" He said slowly, and icily.

The sailor allowed himself a greasy smile before bobbing his head, "'Course, sir." Mary's face continued to pale, as she tried to pull away, however the man simply grabbed her other arm and hauled her from the chair.

"No," I muttered hoarsely, bringing the switchblade up. I pointed it towards the pair of them as the cell rocked back and forth. "If you dare to lay one of your slimy hands on her, I swear I'll-"

Another hand swooped from behind, slapping the knife from my weakening grasp. Soon after, cool metal pressed itself against my temple.

"Do what, Mr. Holmes?"

_Do something! Anything! You can't allow this to happen! _I couldn't draw up any ideas. Logic told me I could do nothing but helplessly watch- The Professor seemed to know exactly what I was going to do.

"Please!" Mary begged, her inner wrist still letting blood profoundly. She put up quite a resistance, using her uninjured arm to punch the sailor several times, many landing correctly. However, the evident four years in the navy seemed to have made him quite withstanding against such things. She let out several other cries as she fought until they reached the door. Suddenly her expression turned hopeless as she stared at me.

I attempted to mouth, "they're coming" but the door had closed forebodingly. My stomach tightened in a horrid mixture of guilt and disgust.

Again, the small space was quiet once again.

"Can you imagine Dr. Watson's reaction when he realizes he was too late?" Moriarty spoke softly, as if musing his thoughts on science or mathematics to his colleagues.

I tried to move my head away, closing my falling eyelids feeling the sudden flood of emotion towards Mary increase drastically, "You'd go _this_ far to distract them from your tail? It doesn't surprise me; it only manages to sicken me."

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to agree, of course. But then again, why should it matter to me?" He said somewhat distractedly. The circular end of the revolver pressed into my forehead harder, now becoming much more painful than it was daunting. The Professor's arm shifted slightly as he looked about the space, "You know, I would like to apologize for cutting our amount of questions short. You can blame your amour and your friend for that though."

As he spoke, I remained completely silent; there was not much to say anyhow. He was obviously leading up to something, but to what I couldn't tell yet. My thoughts continued to be dragged back to what was going on in the neighboring room, dreading the sound of Ms. Morstan's cries.

The freezing tip of the gun smoothly left my skin, followed by the black figure of Moriarty stepping around me. His steps were slow and eased, as if he didn't fear me at all. Though I wasn't bound, he clearly doubted my ability to fight back, which was a valid conclusion considering that my vision still seemed to blur at random and my ribcage wouldn't allow me to move else it would intensify in its torment.

"Let me repay you, hmm?" The man bent down to pick up the knife, holding up its edge towards to behold the rubies which dripped from the silver. As he did so, he returned to stand behind me once again; my vision following him and turning my aching head. "… There were, say, two questions left, correct?"

Before I could reply, the agonizing sensation of skin being separated from skin screamed from my back. A sharp yell flew from the back of my throat, as I seemed to jump forwards to escape the all too craving switchblade as it cut through my flesh.

The world was now dimmer than ever, tilting back and forth like a tossing ship. Yet somewhere through the darkness, I was able to make out the bang of a door slamming open.

A dark voice said steadily, "Consider this as a warning, Mr. Holmes—don't get entangled in my affairs. It'll be the end of you, and to all you hold dear."

The second question quickly bit down my back excruciatingly, the final blow finally delivering the sift darkness once more, to which I fought against best I could. Mary was about to be robbed of something she held dear, and Watson along with… Irene were going to walk into a trap. But it pulled me down into the depths of my dark unconscious, until I was gone.

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><p><em><strong>Adler<strong>_

I kicked down the apartment door without even hesitating in the slightest, and to my and The Doctor's surprise, we were met with a dark, empty hallway. I stepped in cautiously, my revolver drawn and loaded. After thoroughly making sure it was indeed unoccupied by any wishing to ambush, I called out cautiously, "Hello? Sherlock?"

Watson, however, wasn't going to wait at all. He pushed past me to stand in the corridor with his own pistol ready to fire. "Mary? Mary!" He shouted desperately, looking up and down, opening every door he came across.

_Something's not right at all, _I noted, looking at the table besides the door. _If they were holding him, they obviously wouldn't make it so easy to get him back. Moriarty would put up a heavy guard, set obstacles, or at least hide where he was being held. _And then it occurred to me that there was a locked cellar in the front.

"Doctor!" I yelled to him as he frantically searched, causing him to pause. "They're not here—No one is. But there's a _locked _cellar next to the stairs…"

Watson nodded briskly and followed as I went back outside in the freezing cold. After I uncovering the snow-buried part of the two wooden doors, I set to work picking the lock with several hair pins as The Doctor watched intently. It wasn't long before, the cellar was opened, and both of us quickly descended the dark steps inside.

"Mary! Good, God where are you?" He muttered behind me, much louder than he intended.

Then suddenly, a quiet voice replied, "John! I can't believe—John! Help!" This was accompanied by a stifled cry, and another voice's quietly saying angry words.

Seemingly without as much as a thought, Watson ran past me and located the source of her voice. I followed quickly, my finger ready to pull my revolvers trigger, when I noticed a cracked open door at the end of the hallway.

As The Doctor began to kick down a door not too far away, I peered inside.

My stomach seemed to drop, and the cold suddenly seemed much colder. For lying face down in the middle of a freezing, dim, and empty room, lay Sherlock. And across his already bloodied back, were two fresh gashes in the shape of an X.

"I never meant for this to happen…"

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><p><strong>Alright, this is either the third or second to last chapter. The next update will be a bit late because I'm at the beach this week. Sorry :(<br>**

**Anyways, please review! What did you think?  
><strong>


	25. Chapter 25

**And now I present, the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story and reviewed. It has been a fantastic ride, and writing this fic truly helped to expand my writing ;)**

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><p><em>Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around.<br>Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir,  
><em>_not while I'm around._

_Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while,  
>But in time...<br>Nothing can harm you  
>Not while I'm around...<em>

_(Sweeney Todd the Musical)_

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><p>Watson, after kicking down the wooden door, ran into the barely lit cell as fast as his legs would allow. He was slightly glad that he was barely able to see, for perhaps it made the fact that a lowly looking man was atop his fiancé. He quickly determined, though, that this didn't make him feel any better, and that the fact that he couldn't see only made it harder.<p>

"Get off of her, you bastard!" The Good Doctor yelled, rage quite evident in his voice as he sped towards the man. He resisted the urge to shoot the bloody fellow, only because he couldn't risk hitting Mary.

"John- Please, please, please..." A weakening voice tried to cry, though she seemed to be on the verge of either crying or falling unconscious. The second was the most likely.

Something within Watson seemed to break, twisting his stomach in disgusted, furious arrays of knots. The soldier within him hurried along as only one thought ran through his head; _they've hurt Mary. This man has the gall to continue to do so. They've hurt Mary..._

The bloke barely had any time to look up from the prisoner before a metal revolver smashed his skull without mercy. Blood immediately followed the strike, the man's body freezing and then eventually becoming completely still. However, the whites of his beady eyes still reflected the little light remaining in the cell.

Watson wasted no time in rather harshly kicking the brute off of the now sobbing Ms. Morstan. He knelt down after, urgently, to straighten out her disarrayed skirts and then scoop her thin frame into his slightly shivering arms. She responded slightly with incoherent whispers, hugging him in response with one arm as he rocked them back and forth. "It's me darling, hush... I'm here, I am. Are you alright?"

"Oh John!" Her voice cracked before she began to cry silently, her tears running down her cheeks like rain upon a window.

The army doctor embraced her gently, brushing her hair with his gloved hands. Unsure of what this meant, he continued to murmur assuringly, "It's going to be alright, dear. He's not going to hurt you ever again, no one will- My Lord, you're freezing," Suddenly aware of her cold skin, Watson pulled away slightly only to see the red pouring from her other wrist. His gut did another series of summersaults as he looked down towards the injury. "What the bloody hell did they do to you do to you? You need stitches and disinfectant—"

Mary suddenly put a quivering hand on his shoulder, looking him straight in the eye, "Y-you must- you have to go find M-Mr. Holmes."

"Your arm though," Watson tenderly lifted the wounded hand in a vain attempt at analyzing the injury in the dark. The very thought that someone had dared to do such a thing to her lit the fury once again in his core.

The woman, however, shook her head urgently. "You can't worry ab-bout me- he's in a much worse state than I, _m-much _worse. H-he was screaming minutes ago and- oh John, he took everything for me; every p-punishment, every beating, a-and now... You shouldn't even be concerned about me..." She turned her head away as if ashamed.

"I can't leave you-"

"Y-yes you can."

In all honesty, Watson had been slightly torn between searching for his best friend and his fiancé, though the fact that Ms. Adler had gone to look for him had helped. However, it still lingered in his thoughts, and now that Mary was telling him to go, he found himself standing up, holding her better arm, "I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise. If you need anything- _anything _I'll be close by, alright?"

She nodded, a tear still working its way from her eye. The doctor gave her an encouraging half smile despite the darkness. After squeezing her freezing her hand, he let go and handed her his coat of which she quickly donned. Then, without another word, he made his way towards the brighter door.

No sooner had Watson turned to walk further down the little corridor then another person collided with him. He quickly reached for his revolver once again before a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Doctor," Irene Adler said steadily, backing up from were they two stood. The expression across her features read immediately that something was quite wrong. "I found him," her blue eyes darted towards a wooden door a bit farther down, voice weighted with something Watson couldn't understand.

She quickly lead him through the open frame, and stepped in before him. The doctor followed suit, bracing himself for whatever was to meet his sight. Though after being in war, Dr. Watson grew to be less affected by many grotesque sights, but it _was _his best friend after all.

This was probably why he paled considerably upon entering.

"What the hell have they done to you..."

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><p><em><strong>Holmes<strong>_

When I returned to conscious, I was confused. The cold was gone; no longer crawling all over my skin and penetrating everything surrounding me. Instead there was a glowing warm, wrapped around my body and in the air. I noted it carefully as if I never would have felt the comfort ever again—but perhaps I was right and was still floating between my mind and the real world. I probably wasn't even feeling warmth; simply what I remembered feeling and labeling the sensation such.

But there wasn't any pain, save for a dull ache and a fuzziness to my thoughts. This was obviously due to drugs. Whoever was kind enough to take away the constant agony wasn't very clear to me at the moment, though I was quite grateful. Of course, there _was _the possibility that it was still part of whatever I had somehow conjured in my head.

I was only slightly aware that I could feel the ends of my fingers and my feet, but it didn't register as a complete fact. So when my eyes suddenly made an attempt at opening my lids, it came as a strange surprise, making my head begin to pound.

Suddenly, the feeling of skin touching my hand sent a strange tingle down my back. My eyes, however, couldn't manage to open.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear my voice? Answer me." A woman's voice no doubt; distressed and tired. It wasn't Mary's though.

I must truly be unconscious. But I could feel her dainty fingers interlock with mine, and it was just so _real; _as if someone was truly there. I couldn't tell though—I hated not being able to know and for having almost no way to know. Though, for some reason, I wasn't truly that frustrated with my state of being. It was much better than being slashed to ribbons…

The voice persisted gently, squeezing my hand slightly, "Sherlock, I know you can hear me, darling. Just show me you can."

As more warmth spread about me, I considered the woman's words. They were persuasive, though the back of my throat was much too dry to allow speech. Though the one thing that stuck out to me was how voice's owner was so familiar; imbedded in my mind, and yet I still couldn't pick whomever it was out. And yet for some reason, I found myself murmuring, "M-m… mother?"

"No, you silly man... It's me, Irene."

A moment later, I was able to get my eyes open, just slits. But I was able to see that it was true. Two icy blue eyes were staring down at me, a trace of a worn smile evident enough. "'rene…" I breathed her name, barely able to get my sandpaper-like mouth to form the word.

I couldn't remember if I was supposed to be furious at her or grateful. Brief pieces of memories flashed before me; her disappearing at the opera, the sound of her footsteps coming down the cellar stairs. A part of me felt utterly betrayed and wounded and even… bitter. Then suddenly, I would realize how grateful I was with her now. But the emotions were much too unfamiliar for me to truly name and understand, so I simply pushed them aside to ignore.

She nodded her head once before bending down closer to my face, "I'm here." Her voice was sincere again; quiet, and truthful. Perhaps it was a dream…

"Wa..wat…or," I managed to whisper, the whole act causing my throat to contract in pain.

"Of course," She nodded, letting go of my hand and disappearing from my blurred vision. A moment later she returned, blinking down at me with a glass in her hand.

I opened my chapped lips for her, to which she placed the cool surface of the cup just above. Slowly, the cold liquid began to trickle into my mouth and down my throat. I swallowed it slowly at first, for it was still slightly sore. However, the water soon eased away the inflammation and supplied a welcomed comfort throughout my body.

Once I had drained the whole glass, Irene set it down on a table near to where I was set down. Her hand found mine once again soon after she took her seat once again. "Well, I suppose we're even then?" She asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Ex…'xplain," I got out groggily, feeling sleep calling me to come back. For some reason, I wanted to resist.

The Woman gave a tired chuckle, leaning a bit closer in her chair, "I believe you stayed by my side whilst I was wounded—even helping in the operation I think?" After I forced a nod she continued, "Well I returned the favor, lucky for you. However, I don't think you've been out for so long; it's only been a couple hours."

My eyes blinked several times before opening a bit wider. I had to squint for a moment before they got used to the low lighting, having been used to complete darkness for a while. I was able to make out white gauze around my chest just before several warm blankets covered them. At the same time, I was just beginning to realize the feeling of heavy bandaging around my wrists. "H-how bad are they?"

"The slashes you took to your back were… _deep_," Irene admitted slowly, tilting her head. Something was obviously bothering her. "And you were beat up pretty nicely—still are, really. The Doctor went to go to see to his fiancé, but he bandaged you up best he could without stitching you up yet."

"Did the man h… hurt 'er?" I asked as quickly as I was able to.

She shook her head reassuringly, lifting a hand to brush a couple strands of hair from my forehead, "I don't think so. You're friend wasn't in the mood for explaining what happened."

"Typical of him," I exhaled, testing my body's response as I moved my legs just little. A shot of pain flew through my limbs, causing me to wince. Though soon the drugs kicked in and caused everything to fade out for a second until everything was a dull ache once again.

Irene simply watched me with a strange expression I couldn't quite identify.

And then I noticed something; a finger print shaped bruises just barely visible on her shoulder, mostly blocked by her white shirt (of which had a strange resemblance to one I had packed for myself…) Her hair was strangely down, not in the normal fancy up-do she normally put it in, combed to one side of her shoulder—the same one with the bruise. _Signs of a struggle, even if she's trying to hide them. _"Wh-who was that man… the one in the alley, 'rene?"

She stared for a moment as if slightly confused, though then he eyes filled with an unwanted understanding. Something was making her hesitate; whether it was the fact that I saw them together or not I didn't know. Though before she could speak, I stated what recently had just became clear to me.

"Moriarty, h-he wanted me to find his hide out, didn't he?" I asked, taking a deep breath. "He sent that man to make me angry."

"So now is when you finally realize that?" Though her voice was soft, I could sense a touch of relief in the sound. She gave a grim chuckle, only withstanding a second or so. Something was rather bitter about her expression though, but she quickly hid it.

I turned my head to look in her direction, though the movement truly did hurt a bit. "Actually," I drawled, trying to clear my humming mind that refused to do as I asked. "I had my suspicions whilst in The Professor's care, but it wasn't until I was able to see the marks on your skin that it was quite—well, stupidly obvious; the mark on your neck where he pinned you to the wall, the bruises on your shoulders…" My voice suddenly became hoarse, causing me to stop.

Irene nodded as if she didn't expect the statement to be completely true before turning to fetch the water pitcher to fill up the glass again.

"He told me that this was only a warning," I murmured to myself.

The Woman paused in her movements, her back still turned towards where I lay. She visibly took a deep breath, inhaling, and exhaling. "So what are you going to do?"

I managed a small shake of my head. "Only myself then?" I asked, somewhat jokingly.

No response. _Damn that woman…_

I sighed, as she turned around to face me once again, "So you're leaving again; flying to leave matters to sort themselves out." Not as if I was disappointed in this decision. In fact, I had rather expected such, for it seemed to be the pattern of late.

She raised an eyebrow, reading my expression, "You mean to tell me you're going to miss me?"

"Moriarty's going to let me recover before he starts whatever he's planning; he _wants _me to try to stop him. But after that he's going to rage full on war with me, dear," I tried to reach out and grab her hand to make sure she was missing, but I ended up only grasping the material of the bed I was laid upon. However when I looked up, I was met with blue. My voice softening, I continued, "He already wants you out of the way, and I wouldn't be surprised if he will continue to make attempts on your life Irene… So no: I mean that going off on your own isn't the smartest idea."

"But you _would _miss me," She stated with a small, witty grin widening on her lips.

_Yes- but only slightly. You're missing the whole point though!_

I made another attempt at snatching her delicate hand, this time succeeding. "Reconsider Ire—"

"Would you miss me?" She continued to push, her fingers tightening their grasp on my own as she bent down closer. She continued to raise her gently curved brow. "Tell me—admit it, and maybe I _will _reconsider."

Rolling my eyes slightly, I returned flatly, "Yes. There, will you refrain from your suicidal plans?" Sleep took a hand at trying to pull me back under, though I resisted best I could.

"That'll do," She smiled smugly, leaning back in her chair. Though she loosened her grip on my hand, I kept mine firm, searching for her gaze. Eventually I gained her attention once again, to which she tilted her head slightly. "The Doctor said you should get some sleep… and you look pretty awful."

_Of course he would say that, _I let a small smirk pull at my expression, closing my eyes. Irene seemed to let out a quiet chortle as well, finally slipping her hand back to her lap.

After a moment of silence passed, I could feel the weight upon my eyelids and the fatigue ready to bring me back to darkness. Though, still, I couldn't help but quietly mumble a stupid question almost childish in nature. "Will you leave—go back to wherever once I'm sleeping… when you know you could get away easily?"

"You know, I don't think so. Well for now at least," she said as if in perspective. My hand was slowly held once again.

"After all, the fight has just started."

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><p><strong>Yes, I know a sequel is called for. When I'll have time to write it, I don't really know. For those who don't know, I'm attempting to write a real novel at the present, so it is taking a lot of fanfic-ing time away. If you're interested in writing one, please contact me through PM ;)<strong>

**Alright, I must do some shameless self advertising before I go... The lovely Lady Kyree and myself have written a lovel fic titled, _In Over Your Head Yet, Darling? _that if you haven't seen already, it would be great if you checked it out.**

**Again, thank you everyone for reading this. Reviews on how you liked it would be much loved.**


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